


With Harlem Lights: The Prequel

by AmarieMelody



Series: Love in Harlem [2]
Category: Iron Man (Comic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anti-Black Racism, Body Horror, Depression, Fluff and Smut, Gay & Black Harlem, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mutilation, Racism, Reincarnated Soulmate AU, RhodeyTony Angst/Hurt & Comfort, Segregation/Interracial Couple Laws, gentrification, harlem renaissance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 120,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmarieMelody/pseuds/AmarieMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We know of Sam and Steve's love story-both in their past and in their future. </p><p>But what of Rhodey and Tony's love story? Their past, their future?</p><p>RhodeyTony Soulmate/Reincarnated Soulmate AU</p><p>Done by popular demand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again, dears! 
> 
> As I said in the summary, this was done by popular demand-I would not have written this if a lot of my commentators on _With Harlem Lights_ hadn't wanted to know what happens and will happen to Rhodey and Tony. To clarify, this story covers Rhodey and Tony's relationship and struggles in the past/during the Harlem Renaissance before Tony gets cut, the effects on their lives long after that event and the question of if they get a reincarnated happily ever after. This story may not make any sense if you haven't read the first _With Harlem Lights_ (the one with SamSteve), so I **strongly** encourage you to read that before you read this if you haven't. 
> 
> I fucked myself _up_ writing this, by the way. So if this shit here makes you cry, just know that, 1.) a lot of ya'll asked for this heartache and 2.) I cried more than any of you writing this. So ya'll get no sympathy from me. I ain't got not sleep 'cause of ya'll, so ya'll ain't gonna get no sleep 'cause of me. Happy early holidays. /jk :P 
> 
> This time around, we'll also be getting a bigger, more embellished picture of Harlem. I didn't have time to show and do everything I wanted with my SamSteve story because I was part of the gift exchange and I just didn't have the time. But here I do and so I'm pretty excited to get deeper into Harlem and all the other characters and happenings all around Rhodey and Tony. Yay! 
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy! :D

_They say that time rectifies some injustices._

_Injustices that kill the body._

_Crush the hope._

_Hush the laughter._

_Break the heart._

_Wound the soul._

_With patience, some injustices are rectified by time._

_Just some._

_They say…_

-

Before…

Before Amalia Kyle and Lucy Hemsen were to be executed the next morning…

It is said that they kissed. Yes, through the bars of their holding cells, they kissed. 

Some say it was not their first kiss by any means and others say that it was.

Some say that it was not a kiss born of love and others say that it was.

Perhaps, when justice had been fought and lost for, in the shadows of unjust prison cells, love bloomed and, in turn, made hope bloom. 

Either way, it was a kiss through the bars. 

Before…

Before it was time for them to say goodbye, they kissed through the bars. 

-

 **Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1991**

James is sixteen-years-old when it happens. 

It is after a long, fun afternoon of working on an engine at the Tinkering Club and, after that, two hours of baseball practice when he steps out of the shower. The bathroom is humid and fogged from the remains of his hot shower. James, sore and achy from practice, is slow and careful as he towels his body down. Slowly, the condensation on the mirror fades away…

…And that is when it happens. That is when James straightens up from drying his legs, turns his head to glance at his back in the mirror and sees it. 

He yelps and nearly crashes headfirst back into the shower. When he shakily regains his balance, he wipes away the rest of the mirror’s condensation with trembling hands, turns around, and twists his head around to look once more. On his back… _his back_ …

“Mama?!” He hollers. “Can you come here, please?!” 

A Mark.

Not twenty seconds later, Roberta Rhodes charges into the bathroom. Eyes wide, she asks, “Jim, what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong?!” 

“Mama, I…think I…” 

He has a Mark on his back. Right between his right shoulder and right shoulder blade, yes, there is a Mark on his back. 

“Oh, Jim, baby. Oh my god…” Mama breathes as she catches sight of her son’s back. She shakes her head, trying to get her bearings together. “Alright, hon. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You put on some clothes real quick and make sure you ‘specially wear a nice, loose button-down, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay, Mom.” James nods and struggles to turn his head back and take his eyes off the image in the mirror. 

“Imma get dressed as quickly as I can, so you do the same, alright, baby? It’s pretty late in the evening for most clinics and we should try to get there before they close.” 

“Yes ma’am, I hear you.” 

Mama nods and heads for her bedroom when James stops her with a soft “…Mama?” 

She turns back, eyes bright and lips smiling. “Yeah, Jimmy?” 

“I…I’m Marked, Mama. I’m really, really Marked”, he breathes. 

Her smile grows full-blown as she agrees, “Yeah, sweetie. You’re Marked. There’s a special someone out there for you and we’re gonna see if we can find out who it is. So c’mon and let’s hurry up so we can find out who they are quicker.” 

James nods, jumping into action. “Yes ma’am.” 

Another eight minutes and they’re in the car on the way to their local Mark & Soulmate Clinic. Their favorite gospel music is on. It soothes and wafts its way through the car, calming mother and son’s nerves. James looks out the window at the passing scenery and the farewell blaze of the setting sun. He idly fingers the buttons of his button-down. 

As they pass into town, he looks in the rearview mirror and wonders if he’s lucky enough that his Soulmate is actually just in one of the houses they just passed. Maybe one blocks back, in that yellow house with the ladybug and gnome lawn ornaments? How about that other one with the dark-green roof and the brown picket fence? Or it probably could’ve been that one with the dozens of wind chimes hanging from the front porch’s awning? 

Which one, which one? 

Where were they? 

Where are they? 

James wants to know. 

_Needs_ to know. 

Soon, Mama is pulling into the nearly-empty parking lot of their local Mark & Soulmate Clinic. The building is a long rectangle with walls painted a softly rustic Tuscan. Right above the heavy mahogany door is the sign that denotes the name of the practicing doctor: Dr. Misty Knight-Rand. Carefully-manicured shrubs daintily line the parking lot. 

The Rhodes’ are just in time to see the doctor before closing. 

The cheerful waiting room and the nice front-desk nurse are barely remembered by James. He’s far, far away as he and Mama are lead to an exam room to wait for Dr. Misty Knight-Rand to see them. The nurse that led them to the exam room asks questions, takes notes, looks at James’ Mark and jots down even more notes. Before he leaves, he hands James a hospital gown and instructs him that it’ll make it easier for the doctor’s examination of him. James puts it on with no small pout on his face. 

As Mama coaxes him to sit on the exam table, James can only take in the pictures on the counter. The first and largest picture is of a hospital room where a Black woman whose right arm is a prosthetic, a blond-haired, green-eyed White man and a newborn, beautifully dark-skinned baby girl held in the arms of the man are shown. His other arm is tightly around the woman and both adults beam. The picture frame holds the caption ‘Such proud parents! It’s a girl!’. 

The second picture is of the couple’s wedding day. Her stunning in a stark-white gown and he dashing in a sharp tuxedo, the jubilant newlyweds are happily frozen in time, twirling and whirling over a dance floor amongst their equally-jubilant friends and family. This time, the picture frame’s caption reads ‘Congratulations to Misty and Danny Knight-Rand!’. 

The last picture is of a small toddler that must be the baby, grown up. All around her, filling up the entirety of the frame, are bubbles. In one hand, she holds a jar of bubble liquid and in the other, the accompanying bubble wand. She gives that gummy kids’ grin that shows just about all of her teeth. On either side of her head are adorable puffballs. She wears a delicate locket around her neck, with the name “Lucy” lovingly engraved on it in block letters. 

The pictures calm James significantly. He stares at them for most of the time that they wait for the doctor. 

Dr. Misty Knight-Rand comes in about half an hour later. She’s the tall Black woman from the pictures and she sports a huge, glorious afro that makes her look even taller. James’ new medical chart is clasped in her prosthetic right arm. A plain black shirt is tucked into a pair of high-waisted khakis and those cool, new light-up sneakers that James hopes he gets for Christmas are on her feet. Though she wears no white lab coat, her name tag is clipped onto the collar of her shirt and is shiny and brand new. She looks tired after what is surely a long, long day of patients, but the smile she gives to the Rhodes is genuine in its warmth and welcome. 

“Ahh, our last patient for the day, hmm? A young man that got Marked just this evening?” Her eyes zero in on James and her smile brightens even more. 

James nods. “Yes ma’am, that’s me.” 

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet you, James. May I call you ‘James’?” She switches his chart to her left hand and extends her right to both him and his mother. 

James shakes her hand and silently marvels at how smooth and cool the prosthetic is. “Yeah, that’s cool, doc.” 

Mama shakes her hand and says, “We’re sorry about coming in on such short notice and at the end of the day, too. We can’t thank you enough for seeing us anyway, Dr. Knight-Rand.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” She waves a dismissive hand. “I understand and I’m glad that you came in at all. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Now…” She gives a cursory look over his chart. “Your new Mark is on the upper right part of your back, correct? Between shoulder and shoulder blade?” 

“Uh huh”, James confirms. 

“And no…” She briefly reviews more of his chart. “...side effects in your metamorphosis? Fatigue, nausea, a growth spurt, or anything else, correct?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Well then, that part is easy! Now let’s get a good look at that Mark. Let’s set up some mirrors to make it easier.” 

Dr. Knight-Rand has James sit even farther back on the exam table. She goes to the cabinets, which holds a wide variety of mirrors in several shapes and sizes. Quickly, she chooses two large square mirrors with stands and little lights attached to their frames.

She remarks, “These are pretty useful so everyone can be comfortable while we examine your Mark, James. Don’t want you to be craning your neck nine ways to Sunday tryna get a look, you know?”

The Rhodes laugh and agree. 

Mama pats his right shoulder and James obediently shrugs that part of the gown off. He lets it hang to his elbow; Dr. Knight-Rand’s warm, professional presence decreases some of his self-consciousness. Mama comes around to his left side and holds that hand. 

The doctor sets one of the mirrors behind James and to the right. The other one, she sets in front of James and to the right as well. Next, she flips on both mirrors’ lights and dims the lights of the exam room, thus bringing to relief James’ Mark. The result is that both James and his mother can clearly see what’s going on at the right side of his back. Dr. Knight-Rand comes around behind him and beams. 

She exclaims, “Ohh, wouldja just look at _this_ beauty right here?” 

James’ Mark _is_ truly a thing of beauty. 

It is an iron mask. 

Its head is tilted just slightly down and from that angle its stare is forward and aggressive. Two small rectangular slots are its eyes and their fathomless depths entrance one’s gaze. A single, straight line forms the staunch mouth. The angular jaw is strong and stern, completing the noble visage. 

James is proud of his Mark. 

He and Mama watch in the mirror as Dr. Knight-Rand gently and thoroughly touches the area. Her eyes are intent on her work. After a few seconds, her fingers stop on a particular part of his Mark. She circles that area once, twice and her dark brown eyes become even more intense. 

“Here’s our story”, she notes quietly. 

Mama frowns. “Doctor? What’d you find?” 

“Yeah, what is it?” James adds. 

Dr. Knight-Rand moves as far out of the mirror’s way as she can while keeping her finger on James’ back. She points to a tiny circle just resting right beside one of the eyes of James’ iron mask. Upon closer inspection, Mama and James see that there are tinier little ticks spaced evenly inside the circle. Two lines join at the center and point at different spots between the ticks. 

It is a clock. 

Mama and James blink at it. Dr. Knight-Rand says quietly, “Alright, this isn’t…fully good news. But Imma be upfront and honest with you about this, ‘kay? Let me know when you’re ready.” 

As Mama squeezes his hand in support, James takes another, longer look at that clock. A few seconds later and he nods in the affirmative.

Dr. Knight-Rand explains, “Having this clock on your Mark means you’re reincarnated. You’re reincarnated because you and your Soulmate couldn’t be together in a time before. But now you’re alive during this period because you’re supposed to be able to safely be with your Soulmate this time around.” 

Mama blinks slowly at the doctor. “…This is…the _second_ time my son is alive? And he died in the first place because there was someone he couldn’t be with before?” 

James just stares into the mirror. 

“No, ma’am”, Dr. Knight-Rand corrects. “Everyone and everything dies; no one and nothing lives forever. That’s true regardless of Soulmates and Marks. So your son did not _die_ because he couldn’t be with his Soulmate-he was just _reincarnated_ because he couldn’t be with his Soulmate.” 

“Ahh…I gotcha now”, Mama says. 

James’ voice is small and strangled. “So this…person...” His voice trails off and it’s a moment before he can try again. “This person is…my Soulmate and…” 

“They are reincarnated to this time period as well”, Dr. Knight-Rand finishes for him. 

“And they’re…actually alive at the same time as James? They’re gonna _stay_ alive, too? Like, this deal is sealed?” Mama asks. 

Dr. Knight-Rand nods. “The deal is indeed sealed and they will meet sometime. Exactly.” 

Both the doctor and James’ mother look at James’ face. He’s blinking slowly at the reflection of his Mark now. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. The paper of the exam table rustles as his hand slowly bunches it up in his grasp. 

Mama gently rubs his back. “Jim, baby? You wanna…take a break? You want to go home and deal with this another day?” 

“That’s not a bad idea, kiddo. You can take a break from this any time and for however long you need”, Dr. Knight-Rand adds. “We all understand-this is some difficult stuff to deal with, especially for young ones. If you want to take a break, it’s alright. We’ll stop here-no more information, no more dealing with anything.” 

It’s several minutes before James can formulate an answer. He stares at his Mark for just a while longer. A deep, shuddering breath wracks his shoulders. Quietly, he says, “No, I’m…I’m good. Wanna go ahead and face this, get this out of the way. Think it’ll be…easier that way. Yeah.” 

He turns to the doctor. “Can we…back up a bit? You and Mama were talking about the…deal that we’re both alive and we’ll be sure to meet during this time period. But why…why couldn’t we be together in the first place? What went wrong?” 

Dr. Knight-Rand winces, but clasps a warm hand to his right shoulder and elaborates, “Well…that’s where there’s not really any good news, either. See, there are a ton of reasons why you and your Soulmate couldn’t be together. I mean, the problems range from one of you was on a totally different continent to one of you died in a plane crash before you could even sit down together for coffee.” 

“And unfortunately, for as long as this field has existed-and it’s existed even before it was legal and public in the U.S-there is simply no way to tell what kept you two apart. Records of reincarnated Soulmates have been kept throughout, though. And well, like I said, there are so many different reasons during so many different times. In addition to that, you and your Soulmate could’ve been anyone, anywhere.” 

If James’ voice sounded hopeless before, it’s bordering desolate now. “There’s absolutely _no_ way to tell whatsoever? We could’ve been literally anyone at any time and lost each other for any reason…?” 

Dr. Knight-Rand is sadly shaking her head before he’s even done. “No, kiddo. No way at all. I’m sorry. _But you_ can probably tell us at least half of that with the dreams you’ll have.” 

Mama perks up. “Dreams?” 

“Uh huh. Soon-sometimes even as soon as the night of the day your Mark forms-you should be having dreams. These will often be very vague and you may not remember all of it, but they will show you who you and your Soulmate were, what you two meant to each other and, most helpfully, where you two were together in your past lives.”

Dr. Knight-Rand continues, “It can be nice to help you reunite in the place where you last left each other. And, though we can’t help as far as a whole lot of information, several communities, like this one, have set up fundraisers to help reincarnated Soulmates meet each other again in that place.” 

“Help…help us get to the place where we were last able to be together?” James asks carefully. 

“Mm-hmm”, the doctor reaffirms. “And some additional good news? You have no more to wait than ten years; within ten years from tonight, you and your Soulmate will finally meet. That’s what this field has seen in every case like this.” 

Mama’s face brightens. “Oh, you hear that, Jim? In that time, you’ll be studying and in the military like you want to and whatnot, getting your life together. If it really takes up to a decade, then you’ll probably meet them when you’re both ready.” 

Dr. Knight-Rand smiles. “Your mama’s right, James. Listen to her. And usually, once you feel that urge to go to that past place, your Soulmate may feel it at the same time. From there, you should meet and you’ll be able to touch bare hands, palm-to-palm and Bond. All the research has shown high, promising rates of satisfaction just about every time.”

James is about to smile too, but then a thought occurs to him. His eyes snap to Dr. Knight-Rand’s face. “Wait. So…you can’t tell me where and/or who I and my Soulmate were in our past lives. So then you also probably can’t…” 

“…Help you find your Soulmate faster in this life. No we can’t, kiddo”, the doctor finishes sadly. 

Mama’s face falls. “You don’t…you don’t have some kind of records system, doc? Some archive that can help bring my son and his Soulmate together faster _at all_?” 

At the new question, just a spark of hope returns to James’ eyes. But Dr. Knight-Rand’s next words sap said hope right away. 

“We’re still being straight and upfront again.” She sighs. “A lot of clinics like us _do_ actually have whole records and archives of Marks. That’s why, before you leave here, I’m going to take pictures and record precise descriptions of your Mark.” 

“But the problem is that our archive, like just about every other Mark & Soulmate clinic, only encompasses people from this county and surrounding counties. Only about a handful of the Marks we have on file are on people from cities in New Jersey and that’s about as far out as those records go.” 

“Though you will meet your Soulmate in this lifetime, they could be anywhere on this planet. The only way to help you and your Soulmate meet faster is to have an international database of Marks and…we don’t yet have that technology. America doesn’t even have a database on the national scale and, so far, it doesn’t look like that’s changing as fast as we’d like”, Dr. Knight-Rand finishes. 

James blinks and feels like his chest is caving in and the room is far, far too small. He leans into Mama’s steadying, comforting presence and tries not to blink too hard. As though from a long, winding tunnel, he hears his own voice. “Then, doc…what’s the likelihood that they’re actually right here in the same county with me? How…how close are reincarnated Soulmates usually? Or is that…is that random too?” 

He reads the answer in her face before she says it. “I’m sorry, James. But that, too, is just as random as everything else. There have been cases where reincarnated Soulmates lived just a block apart and they found each other that next year. Other times, you two are in different countries and, depending on your dreams and the resources you have to travel, you might not meet for five years.” 

James’ chest feels as though it’s caving in even more. He deflates against his mother’s body and lets out a quiet, breathy, “Oh…” 

Mama gently rubs his back and Dr. Knight-Rand reassures him, “But, remember: you two _are_ going to meet in this time period. It’s gonna take time, but try to remember that the important thing is that it’s gonna happen. You just gotta try your best to be patient and live your life in the meantime. Can you do that for me?” 

“I…I think I can try”, James says. “It’ll be hard, but I’ll try.” 

Dr. Knight-Rand beams. “That’s good, kiddo. You try your hardest and you’ll meet that Soulmate of yours again before you know it. Now, how about we get those pictures taken and we’ll call you and let you know our findings, hmm? And even if there’s not a match, we’ll still keep your picture on file and call you if anything at all changes. ‘Kay?” 

James takes a deep breath. He glances at his beautiful iron mask one more time and acquiesces. “Yeah, sure. Picture time.” 

_Please let there be a match…please let me know where you are..._

-

 **Malibu, California, 1991**

It is the day after Maria Stark’s son’s sixteenth birthday when it happens. 

Maria is in her bedroom, getting ready for one of their rare, treasured mother-son dinner nights. This one however, is a special belated-birthday dinner for her son. She sighs as she leans over her vanity and applies a fresh coat of mascara. No matter how hard she tries to work with their schedules, it seems that all of her child’s birthday celebrations with just the two of them are belated. 

But her son never really seems to mind. Hell, he’s made her tear up on many a nights ever since he told her that his favorite part of his birthday is spending time with his favorite mommy. 

She couldn’t ask for a better son…even though she doesn’t quite remember giving him permission to grow up so fast on her. Just yet another thing to tear up about over her boy. 

Maria finishes her makeup and calls out, “Tony? Tony, cupcake, are you ready?” 

Instead of her son’s voice answering her from down the hall, it’s JARVIS’. “Madame, I do believe your son is experiencing a bout of itching.” 

Maria chews on her lip. “Why would he be itching? What’s going on…?” She walks out of her bedroom, bare feet padding silently on the hallway’s thick, plush carpet. “Tony, bumblebee, what’s the matter?” 

The AI’s voice mirrors her concern. “I do believe that this itching started not five minutes ago, ma’am.” 

“It started just now? I wonder what could’ve started it…” Maria wracks her brain as she approaches her son’s bedroom door. 

Tony calls out from within, “Uhh…Mom? My back just… _argghhh…_ ” 

Her concern balloons into worry as she opens Tony’s door. Tony’s crisp evening button-down is in rumples on the floor and he’s furiously scratching at the left side of his back with his loofah back brush. He scratches and scratches at it, but from the look on his face, he finds no relief. 

Maria comes around behind him, hands outstretched. “Ah, ah, ah! Tony Stark, you give me that loofah right now.” 

“But it’s _itching_ , Mom! I can’t even make it stop!” He hands her the loofah with a pout on his face. 

She sets the loofah on his dresser and takes a look at his back. “Yes, I can see that, snickerdoodle. But I’m not sure scratching at it like that will help. You may even hurt yourself. Now try to stay still.” 

Her son has always had a birthmark on this part of his back. Its shape is a perfect circle. The mottled flesh is an angry dark pink, puckered and uneven like a keloid. It’s the strangest birthmark Maria has ever seen, but up until now it gave him no problems, and so she left it alone. 

But now...

Maria gently presses experimental hands against the birthmark. It’s warmer than the surrounding, unmarred flesh. She guesses that the warmth is only because he was scratching earlier, but her worry increases. “Tony, JARVIS said this began just now…?” 

“Uh huh. I dunno what I did…” 

“Probably not anything, sweetie cakes. Don’t worry, Mom’s going to fix this. JARVIS?” She calls out to the AI. 

“Yes, madam?” JARVIS replies. 

“Can we get a doctor that specializes in this kind of thing here? And in the meantime, which bathroom has the anti-pruritic cream?” Maria gently catches and holds her son’s hand when he goes to scratch again.

“ _Mom…_ ”, Tony whines. 

“At once, ma’am. I am reviewing local concierge dermatologists as we speak. And the anti-pruritic cream can be found in your bathroom, third drawer from the left in the sink.” 

“Thank you, JARV”, Maria says. She turns to her son and squeezes his hand. “Tony, you try your best to stop itching. While JARVIS is finding us a doctor, let’s run you an oatmeal bath and see if that helps. Then I’ll rub the cream on your back, okay?” 

Tony pouts again, but nods. “Guess this means no birthday dinner tonight, huh?” 

“No, I’m sorry, duckling.” Maria drops a kiss in his hair. “I don’t want you to go out to dinner and all the sudden you fall out because something worse is going on. When this clears up, we’ll go for that dinner and even a movie. I promise. How’s that sound?” 

Tony’s pout becomes even more pronounced, wreaking havoc on Maria’s heart. “Yeah. Gotta get better first. Sure.” 

But as it turns out, neither the oatmeal bath nor the anti-pruritic cream help one bit. The itching is so bad that Tony can’t sleep worth anything. Maria stays up with her son and turns the night into a Disney movie night to try to distract him from his discomfort. 

Neither Tony nor Maria is in a very good mood when the dermatologist comes the next morning. 

The man is completely useless. He has and knows nothing to stop the itching and he doesn’t even know its cause. Right before Maria curtly shows him the door, he hesitantly recommends that they call a doctor specializing in Soulmates & Marks. 

JARVIS finds them a Dr. Ho Yinsen, specialist in Soulmates & Marks. 

He stands in their front door that next morning. The elderly doctor is an Asian man with dark-bronze skin, a long, aquiline nose and impossibly warm, intelligent eyes that peer at Maria behind round spectacles. His light blue button-down shirt is tucked into plain black trousers. Over his button-down is a casual black blazer and a simple watch peeks out from beneath one of his sleeves. He carries his black doctor bag in one hand while his other rests in his pocket. 

His voice is warm with compassion. “Dr. Yinsen, here to see a young Tony Stark, Mrs. Stark?” 

“Yes!” Maria chirps. “Please do come in! Can we get you anything, doctor? Tea? Coffee? Have you eaten breakfast at all? We have just about anything you can think of.” 

Dr. Yinsen smiles as he steps over the threshold of the Stark’s mansion. He casts a cursory, appreciative look over the wide foyer, then replies, “Oh, no thank you. I have already eaten. But you’re quite kind, ma’am. Where is our afflicted young man?” 

Maria smiles back and leads the doctor to one of their many parlors. “This way. And please know that the offer stands. We’re so very glad that you’re here. I hope you can help my son, sir.”

“Yes, I understand that your son has experienced a sudden bout of terrible itching? And no relief from it despite an oatmeal bath and liberal application of over-the-counter anti-pruritic cream?” Dr. Yinsen asks as he adjusts his spectacles. 

“Mm-hmm”, Maria confirms as they go down a hallway. “Doctor, it’s terrible, really. I really can’t tell you how glad we are that you’re here.” 

Dr. Yinsen inclines his head. “As am I. I’m willing to help in any way I can.” 

They reach the parlor and Tony stands up from the loveseat upon seeing them. Like his mother, darkly-shadowed bags are under his eyes and he wears loose pajamas. He meets the doctor in the middle of the room, hand outstretched and a tired grin on his face. 

“Heya. I’m Tony.” He shakes Dr. Yinsen’s hand warmly. “I’m this boss lady’s son.” 

“Ah yes. You two look very much alike”, the doctor agrees. 

Tony smiles and feels his heart pounding at the sight of Dr. Yinsen, specialist in Soulmates & Marks. Of all things, he could…he could have a Mark…he could have a Soulmate somewhere out there…

A Soulmate…

His heart pounds harder. 

Dr. Yinsen gestures to an ottoman near the coffee table and asks, “If you would sit there for me, young man?” 

“Oh yeah. Sure.” Tony sits down on the ottoman and undoes the buttons of his pajama top. 

Mom sits down on another ottoman beside him and the Starks watch as Dr. Yinsen pulls out tools from his bag; a sphygmomanometer; a thermometer; and an oximeter. With these and his watch, he quickly takes Tony’s vital signs. With a pleased smile, he informs mother and son that his vitals are all well. 

Next, he pulls out two mirrors; gloves; and a penlight. He asks Tony to expose the part of his back giving him trouble and Tony obeys. 

The doctor then pulls up an armchair to where the Starks are sitting. He sets his gloves and penlight on the end table beside him. One of the mirrors he places on the coffee table in front of Tony and slightly to the left, and the other table he places behind Tony, specifically to the left of his back, where his birthmark-that-could-be-a-Mark is visible. Before Dr. Yinsen asks, Mom gets up and brings two table lamps closer to the mirrors. The result is that both Tony and his mother can clearly see what’s going on at the right side of his back. Dr. Yinsen settles himself at Tony’s back and pulls his gloves on. 

“I’m just going to palpate the area for a moment”, he explains. 

“Sure, doc. Do whatever you have to”, Tony says as he watches what’s going on behind him in the mirror. His mother gently rubs his right shoulder. 

Dr. Yinsen’s gloved hands are careful as they move all over the area. It’s difficult for Tony to keep that part of his back bare. He’s always been deeply self-conscious about the damn ugly thing. It’d be the sole reason alone why he never went down to the pool when houseguests were around and why no one outside his mother and a few close friends have ever seen him without a shirt on. And no makeup in all the world has ever been able to hide it, either. 

Though Tony is still hopeful, he also doesn’t know how in the hell something as beautiful as a Mark could ever come out of such an ugliness. 

But somehow that self-consciousness drops more and more in Dr. Yinsen’s presence and with Dr. Yinsen’s hands on it. 

It’s a few minutes later when the doctor finally remarks, “Ahh…just as I suspected.” 

“What did you suspect, doctor?” Mom asks nervously. 

Tony’s heart flutters right into his throat as he, too, awaits an answer. 

Dr. Yinsen’ moves as far out of the mirror’s way as he can. He keeps his finger on Tony’s back and points to a tiny circle on his birthmark. When Tony and Mom look closer, they see that there are tinier little ticks spaced evenly inside the circle. Two lines join at the center and point at different spots between the ticks. 

It is a clock. 

“This was never a birthmark, Tony”, Dr. Yinsen quietly announces. “This is a scar from a long, long time past. And before it was a scar, it was, indeed, a Mark.” 

Tony and his mother turn to stare at the man with uncomprehending eyes. Mom is the first to speak, her hand warm and steady on her child’s shoulder. “Doctor…with all due respect, my son was born with this. I honestly don’t know where he would’ve gotten a scar from. And most certainly not a scar like this-a scar that…used to be a Mark.” 

Dr. Yinsen inclines his head. “I understand, Mrs. Stark. But this is an entirely different thing than what you and your son were expecting.” 

His compassionate eyes meet Tony’s bewildered ones in the front mirror. “Young man, you are what is known as a reincarnated cut.” 

“A…‘reincarnated…cut’…” Tony repeats. The words fall off his tongue without his brain comprehending them. 

“Wait…‘reincarnated’? Are you saying that this…this isn’t my son’s first life? Or only life?!” Mom demands. 

“Precisely, ma’am”, Dr. Yinsen confirms. “Whenever the Soulmate & Mark community sees a combination of a scar mistaken for a ‘birthmark’, itching, and a clock? The only explanation that has ever held truth is that the patient is a reincarnated cut. The ‘birthmark’ is actually a scar, the itching is a metamorphosis, and the clock indicates reincarnation.” 

Tony blinks at the doctor in the mirror. Somehow his heart is slower and his breath is…gone. His breath is gone. His hand trembles and his mother’s hand leaves his shoulder to hold it. He struggles to find words. “I’m...I have a past…life? And my Soulmate…my Soulmate has a…?” 

But Dr. Yinsen somehow understands what he’s trying to ask. “Yes, you _and_ your Soulmate were reincarnated to this modern day. You are reincarnated because, in your past lives, you were unable to be together for an unknown reason.” 

“Why is…the reason ‘unknown’, though? What’re you saying? It could’ve been literally any reason at all…?” 

“Exactly. ‘Any reason at all’. Perhaps it was a war that took you two apart, discriminatory laws, or you two were merely on completely different continents for most or the entirety of your lives.” 

Feeling even more breathless than before, Tony sends a glance at the doctor’s bag. “But do you…do you have anything in there to find out who we were and why we couldn’t stay together?” 

“And if you do, and how long would it take?” Mom adds. 

Dr. Yinsen’s forlorn face gives them the unwanted answer before he even speaks. “No, I’m afraid not. We have neither the database to show who you two were in your past lives nor to understand why you couldn’t be together. Though proposals for legislation to create such a database is being suggested, there has been no such change. I am so sorry.” 

The parlor is silent for a long, long while. Mom and Dr. Yinsen wait for Tony’s response. But Tony can’t say anything. Can’t _think_ anything except…except that he started out this morning entertaining the possibility of having a Soulmate. 

A Soulmate. 

Someone meant just for him and he meant just for them. Someone that he’s going to love past the ends of the earth and back, and someone that will reciprocate in kind. 

Someone…that’s been so, so far out of his reach long before he even knew they ever had each other in the first place. And now they’re both living a second life and they’re so, so far out of Tony’s reach all over again. 

An impossibly heavy weight of sheer _loss_ makes his chest feel like it’s busted open. His hand trembles in his mother’s and she rubs her thumbs soothingly across his knuckles. He makes a sound that’s a cross between a sob and a hiccup and Dr. Yinsen gently places a hand on his rigid left shoulder.

“Tony? We understand that this is hard.” A gentle squeeze. “Would you like a few moments alone to process this?” 

“And bumblebee, do you want something to drink?” Mom offers. 

JARVIS’ voice softly cuts in. “Sir, you _are_ experiencing a mild panic attack. Perhaps what the good doctor and your mother suggest would be prudent to follow.” 

Tony blinks rapidly and shakes his head. He clears his throat once, twice, before he can find his voice again. “N-no. I…I need to go ahead and have all of this figured out. I need to know everything. Thanks anyway.”

He meets Dr. Yinsen’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “You say this is a…scar? A scar that used to be my Mark? Is that the…the ‘cut’ part? I don’t understand…” 

“Ah, yes.” Dr. Yinsen takes his hand off Tony’s shoulder and it hovers over the scar. “What ‘cut’ refers to is the period of a few decades ago-and still sometimes today-when there was a global illegal medical branch in which doctors would cut patients’ Marks out. Some of these facilities may even still be operating today and we still haven’t yet developed a safe surgical procedure to replace the past’s cutting.” 

Both Tony and his mother blanch and stare at the doctor in the mirror.

“Good god”, Mom breathes. 

“Why in the _fuck_ …?” Tony demands.

“Studies show a strong correlation between why people are reincarnated and why people have been cut. That is, the reasons are quite often the same, though…they can often be much more dire”, Dr. Yinsen explains. 

“For example, you’ll remember that there were-and still are, in some parts of the world-discriminatory laws against certain Soulmate couples. Perhaps you two were such couples that fell under those laws. And even if there wasn’t any law where you lived, it very well could’ve been that your families so strongly disapproved of each other that you didn’t dare show a shared Mark to them.” 

Dr. Yinsen gestures to what was once Tony’s Mark again. “That is what this scar represents-it is the scar that formed during the early healing process after you were cut. You have carried this scar over to your second life.” 

Tony swallows heavily as he stares at his scar in the mirror. Voice trembling anew, he asks, “And…my Soulmate? Are they…do they have a scar, too? Because of me?” 

“It’s unlikely”, the doctor immediately assures him. “As far as the community has seen, only those who were cut have scars. Since usually it was only _one_ of you that needed to cut your Mark if it was a question of endangerment based on your relationship, it’s doubtful that your Soulmate carries a scar as well. And the cutting and reincarnation process doesn’t mean they have a scar, either.” 

“However…” Dr. Yinsen warns, “I am going to inform you that when you did get your Mark cut, it…did have detrimental effects on your Soulmate, though they didn’t feel the actual physical pain of it. And, in addition to that, studies have shown that with each case, those effects are still unfelt by the uncut Soulmate in this next life.” 

Tony twists around to look at the doctor with eyes that are pleading and just a little wet. “What…what were they? What happened?” 

Dr. Yinsen pushes his glasses higher up on his nose. “Well, for the person getting their Mark cut, they-”

“No, no. I don’t care about me. I’m pretty sure it was bad any way-”

“Oh, _Tony!_ ” Mom exclaims. 

“-and if I got cut, then I probably didn’t stay with them either. So I need to know…what they went through when I wasn’t there, what the effects were on them.” 

“Ahh...” Dr. Yinsen nods slowly, finally understanding. “For your Soulmate, it was often severe clinical depression, partial or complete colorblindness, and a numbness and discoloration of their Mark. These effects were even stronger if the other person’s Mark was cut out after a Bonding occurred. I’m afraid that all of these are permanent in more than ninety-two-percent of cases. I am so sorry.” 

The parlor is stifling in its renewed silence. Mom chews on her lip, and then asks, “But…back then? Wasn’t there any kind of medicine to at least offset those effects?” 

“No, I’m afraid not and that remains true even today.” 

Mom’s eyes harden. “And there was no medicine for my son after he was cut, either, I’m assuming?” 

“Exactly, ma’am. It is a…grim reality, one which I wish no one had or will ever have to endure.” 

JARVIS’ voice warns, “Mr. Stark’s mild panic attack is resurfacing and increasing in intensity.” 

Dr. Yinsen and Mom’s eyes snap back to Tony, but he waves away their concern. He stares into the doctor’s eyes. 

“W-where are they now? How will I find them this time around? How will I be able to let them know I’m not…” his voice trembles and he trails off. He swallows heavily and tries again. “…I’m not going to leave them again and I’m damn well not going to cut out our Mark.” 

Mom lifts his hand to kiss his knuckles. “Gigglebear. It is _not_ your fault. I don’t think the good doctor here will disagree when I say that I’m pretty sure your Soulmate knew you didn’t want to leave them and/or get cut. Besides, what if it…was something neither of you both could control?” 

“Indeed, I do agree with your mother, Tony”, Dr. Yinsen confirms. “And hopefully we can end this appointment on a note of hope: I have no way of telling you who and where they are now, but I _can_ tell you that you two _will_ meet in this lifetime.” 

He points to a tiny, tiny line outside of the clock in Tony’s scar. “If you look closely, you will see that you have several of these. This is the reformation of your Mark and what is responsible for the itching.” Dr. Yinsen continues, “The longest we have seen a Mark take to retake its form is ten years and, yes, that may be true for you. But you will have dreams of your Soulmate and, from those you may be able to piece together key memories about whom you two were, what you meant to each other and where you two were last able to be together in your past lives.” 

“When you meet again, you both may want to meet in the last place you were together. You two will often feel an instinctual pull to that place. We have seen several reincarnated Soulmate couples reunite on their own this way. It… _does_ take up to ten years in some cases, but no more than that.” 

Tony sags, any sense of hope leaving his body once again. “…Ten whole years…” 

Mom pipes up. “But that’s just a blip, sunshine! Just a blip! You’re a sixteen-year-old baby right now and your Soulmate could be the same age. If it does take that long, then you two can take that time to grow, learn and just be kids before meeting each other when you’re older and more mature.” 

“Exactly”, Dr. Yinsen agrees again. He warmly rubs Tony’s shoulder. “No matter how much time it takes, it is still guaranteed to happen. You and your Soulmate will be able to touch bare hands palm-to-palm and Bond once and for all in this new life. You’re both reincarnated and this is promised to both of you.” 

The doctor places his hand on Tony’s sagging shoulder. “Just have patience, Tony. It will come.” 

Tony nods, but cannot accept. 

_I’m supposed to be with you…I’m supposed to be with you long-since by now…_

-

Dr. Knight-Rand calls James next week. She sadly informs him that they searched and searched and searched through their archives, but they found not a single match for his Mark.

Not a single one. 

In that same week, Tony stares and stares and stares down the tiny, incomprehensible lines of his unfinished Mark. But all the staring is to no avail; absolutely no change, no formation takes place. 

Nothing changes. 

-

Though it’s futile at best and childish at worst, James can’t stop looking. He can’t. 

He pretends to stroll through his neighborhood one evening after school, hands in his pockets and eyes slowly sweeping. Slowly…he moves as slowly as he can. His head moves this way and that, trying to figure out…where…who…

Where. 

A house’s door opens to his left, but it’s just Mr. Ejikime coming out to water his tulips and harvest his tomatoes. The elderly man smiles at James and lifts a hand in greeting. James returns it with as much sincerity as he can muster. There’s a car pulling into a driveway ahead of him, but it’s just Mrs. and Mrs. Hillard getting out of the car with their three children in tow. The two women and their kids wave too and James returns it much the same way. 

Who. 

Another door opens…but it’s just Mr. Mohammed getting ready for his weekly jog. Another smile and wave. Over here is just Ms. Wong playing hopscotch with her children. And over there is just Ms. Miles helping her husband bring groceries into the house. 

Ten years. That’s how long Dr. Knight-Rand said it could take before he and his Soulmate find each other again. Ten whole years. One entire decade. And their phone conversation keeps echoing over and over again in his head…no match…no match…no one…

James feels so…so…

 _Lost._

He feels so very, very lost. So lost that he can’t remember the last time he felt so out of place, out of time, out of body. 

James balls his hands up tight and stuffs them even deeper into his pockets. His shoulders shudder with a tension he’s sure he’s never quite felt before. Somehow he feels a cold, cold draft pass over his shoulders though there is no wind. Maybe he should turn back and head home. But he still has several hours until his curfew and, for just tonight, Mama’s not going to make him come in for dinner-

“Jim! Hey, Jim-a-roo!” 

“Yeah, Jim, wait up!” 

A ghost of a smile graces his face as he turns around to see his two best friends ambling towards him. “Hey, Rumi. Hey, Pep.” 

When Rumiko reaches him, she merrily glomps him and places a sound kiss on his cheek with a resounding _smwoh!_ “Heya, Jim-a-roo.” 

Pepper hugs and kisses James next. Rarely are her hugs glomps; instead, they’re warm, warm squeezes with even warmer back rubbing. Her kisses are quieter, softer too. James loves the differences between them and today, more than ever, he needs to be around and reminded of them. 

When Pepper pulls away, she quietly explains, “Your mom…kinda told us what happened.” 

Rumiko agrees, “Yeah. You…got a Soulmate, but they’re not really anywhere to be found as of right now?” She leans in closer and whispers, “You’re both…reincarnated?” 

James takes a deep breath and looks at the two girls. He takes in Pepper’s fiery red hair that’s turned into a shining comet in the sunset’s blaze. He takes in Rumiko’s dark, sparkling eyes that are playful gemstones found at the bottom of a pond full of magic and treasure. They’re both still wearing their backpacks, clearly having headed straight out of their afternoon clubs and on their way to find him as soon as they could. He looks at them, but…he’s not so sure he has the energy to fully repeat everything. Not even sure he has the energy to keep walking right now. 

Rumiko and Pepper seem to catch the hint. They both point at the porch of an empty, unsold house not ten feet from them. All three friends sit down on the rickety wooden stairs with a collective sigh. James sits in the middle. He gazes out at the darkening sunset as he tries to scramble together a coherent thought to put into a sentence for his two friends.

“Uhh…yeah”, he finally says. “But we don’t know where they are right now. I…I feel like they’re far away. I feel like they…left.” 

Rumiko blinks. “‘They left’? What do you mean? You two haven’t even met yet. That’s…that’s why you’re here again, right? So you can meet at all?” 

Pepper nods, agreeing with Rumiko. She looks at James, a wrinkle of confusion in her brow. “What’re you saying, James?” 

“I…” He takes a deep, deep breath and runs a shaking hand over his forehead. “I’m saying…I think they left. Last time? When…during our first lives? I feel like they’ve been missing. I sense it. I feel like they left me and they never, ever came back. But they were _supposed_ to come back. And I don’t…understand why it’s taking so long.” 

“Oh, James.” Pepper shakes her head. She puts an arm around him. “I don’t think they would’ve done something like that.” 

Rumiko says, “I totally second that shit. And I mean…even if they _did_ leave you, I bet it wasn’t for anything that you did!” 

James gives a short bark of a laugh. “You know, that’s pretty much what both my mom and my new doc said. But I…” He rubs at his forehead again. “I don’t _know_ why they left and I sure as hell don’t know where they’ve gone. I just know that they did and it’s been a long fucking time and they’re supposed to be here by now. I miss them. I want to be back with them.” 

Pepper nods and squeezes his shoulder. “Well, you know you two are going to be back together…in, uhh, this life, right? You are. So all you have to do is just wait and let it happen.” 

“And it’ll happen for sure!” Rumiko chimes in. 

James gives a sad, quiet smile. “Yeah. But I don’t want to wait. I haven’t even had any dreams of them yet, but I already feel like I’ve waited long enough for them…”

“We know”, Rumiko says. “But, in the meantime, how about we head back to your house and rest up, huh?”

Pepper nods. “Yeah. Even if you don’t feel like eating anything, it’ll be good to be back inside.” 

James smiles softly and lets them help him up off the porch. 

-

Tony sits on his bathroom sink’s counter, his torso bare. He holds out a mirror in front of him to reflect from the sink’s mirror and see his Mark without craning. His eyes scrutinize every last part of his…his _scar_. They look for any and all promise of change in his Mark’s formation. 

_Severe clinical depression…_

But there is little to see. In the three straight hours of his staring, only two very tiny, faint horizontal lines have appeared. There’s no fucking discernable shape to be made out for anything. Mom let him stay home from school today, but she and JARVIS tried their hardest to drag him out of the bathroom for lunch, but…but Tony can’t bear to lose sight of the mirror. Can’t even think of it. What if he misses just one line, one curve, one more clue forming? What if he misses it and then that’s just yet another mile or a thousand between his Soulmate and him. So he sits, staring at his unformed Mark in the mirror. 

_Partial or complete colorblindness…_

He started out trying to stare down his Mark into compliance. Fruitlessly thought that if he burned a glare into it long enough, it would do what the fuck he wanted it to do and just finish forming itself so he’d finally…finally know how and where the fuck to go by now. 

_Numbness and discoloration of their Mark…_

Because even as Tony stares, he feels like he’s being pulled everywhere and nowhere. He’s supposed to be with his Soulmate, he’s supposed to have returned to them by now because he left so, so long ago and he was supposed to be back with them so, so long ago. Ever since the appointment with Dr. Yinsen, he’s felt like he should go east. And west. And south. And north. He feels like he should be moving. But at the same time, he feels like to move at all is to move in the wrong direction, in the direction that doesn’t hold his Soulmate. So Tony sits still on the bathroom sink counter and all but vibrates out of his skin. 

_…Stronger after Bonding…_

Tony has to return. Because he has to let his Soulmate know that he’s here-he’s _here_ -and he will never, ever, ever go away from them ever again. He’ll stay with them, he’ll take care of them and they’ll never be separated ever again. He just needs to know _where_ he last left them. He just needs to see his Mark’s formation finished, needs to have those godforsaken dreams that haven’t even fucking started yet. How much fucking longer is all of this going to take…

 _…Permanent in more than ninety-two-percent of cases…_

The image of his Mark shakes. He tries to hold the mirror tighter, but that only makes his knuckles go white and the image of his unfinished Mark shake even more. He swallows back frustrated tears as he struggles not to hurl the mirror into the bathtub-

Mariah Carey’s _There’s Got To Be A Way_ sounds through Tony’s stereo. In the next second, he hears the jiggling of his bathroom lock being picked. The doors swings open and on the other side stand a slowly dancing Monica and a cotton-candy-bubblegum-chewing T’Challa.

“Well look at that, Moni”, T’Challa remarks. “He’s so upset that he didn’t even hear us come into his bedroom. And this after he constantly reassured his skeptical mother and AI that he’ll actually be just fine.” 

Monica shakes her head even as she keeps dancing. “Mm, mm, mm. What’re we gonna do with him, baby?” 

“To start with…” T’Challa reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of cotton candy bubblegum. He proffers it to the other boy. “If you’re not going to put a shirt on, get off that counter and/or put away that mirror, then at least chew something. It helps your anxiety. I know personally.” 

Tony doesn’t move anything but his head. He glances at the gum, then looks up at T’Challa’s face. “…What the hell do you know about ‘stress’? You’re number one in the class.” 

T’Challa doesn’t miss a beat. “Exactly. And that kind of question is why _you_ are the second one in the class.” 

At that, Monica snickers, does a spin and plants a loud, smacking kiss on T’Challa’s cheek. 

Tony blinks. He sighs and takes the damn gum with a muttered “Thanks”. With exaggerated movements, he makes sure T’Challa actually sees him pop it in his mouth and his teeth gnashing it into something that can become a bubble. A few seconds later of chewing and he actually…feels his hand loosening its grip on the mirror. 

In a quieter voice, he thanks T’Challa again, then asks, “So…JARVIS or Mom told you two the story?” 

“Both”, Monica and T’Challa say at the same time. 

“All of it or…just enough?” 

“Enough”, they both say again. 

“Ahh”, Tony replies quietly. He blows a cotton candy bubble. Okay, it calms a little…just a little. 

T’Challa blows a bubble too as he comes into the bathroom. He gently squeezes Tony’s free hand. “It really wasn’t your fault. We’re sure of that.”

“Ditto”, Monica agrees. “And your Soulmate is definitely around and looking for you just as much as you are them, Tones.” 

“But I…” Tony trails off, his eyes briefly going to his unchanged-Mark once again. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it this time. But I know I left…yeah, _I’m_ the one that left _them_ …I…” 

Monica frowns and stops dancing altogether. She, too, comes into a bathroom and places a gentle hand on Tony’s knee. “You wouldn’t leave them, Tony. You wouldn’t want do to somethin’ like that. Ever.” 

“Yeah”, T’Challa adds. “That’s not you, whether in a past life or today.” 

“No, no, no.” Tony shakes his head even as he keeps one eye on his Mark. “I know I didn’t want to leave them-I _know_ that. I feel that. But I just…” 

Monica’s head tilts as she keeps rubbing his leg. “You just what, baby?” 

T’Challa raises his eyebrows in expectation. 

Tony struggles to explain. “I know I…didn’t want to leave them. I can sense that much. But I…I stayed away for a long time. A long, long time and I’m supposed to be back with them by now. I feel like I’m late and they’re waiting for me. They’re looking for me and I don’t…I don’t know how to let them know I’m here. That I’m…I’m looking for them, too.” 

Upon vocalizing his feelings, he feels his anxiety spike all the way through the roof and to the sky. His hand shakes in T’Challa’s and tears prick the corners of his eyes. If he can’t fix this whole goddamn mess, then he wants to retreat to his workshop and bury his thoughts and emotions in engines and motor oil and wires and computer screens. But he knows that if he does that, Mom and/or JARVIS will just drag him back up here and…and, really, he’s learned the hard way that the longer he doesn’t deal with shit like this, the worse it feels and the harder it is to cope. 

Still, it hurts. Still, he wants to retreat so badly. 

So very, very badly. 

This is true, even with Mariah’s five-octave voice gliding out of his stereo. 

Monica smiles gently, surely guessing what’s going through her friend’s mind. “But Tony, you’ll find them soon, won’t you? Dr. Yinsen said that it doesn’t always take a decade or so, right?” 

“Uh huh”, T’Challa agrees. “Either way, you’ll be reunited.” 

“But _how_?” Tony despairs. “I know Dr. Yinsen talked about fucking dreams and time and my Mark will take form over my scar and w-we’ll eventually both end up in the place where we last left each other. But it’s…it’s so fucking far away. All of it feels so goddamn far away and I don’t have any way of making it come closer or make it go faster or-”

“Then you just take care of yourself in the meantime”, Monica softly interrupts. “If you can’t muster up the energy to take care of you for you, then just tell yourself that you’re taking care of someone’s precious Soulmate for the time being. Because you are precious to someone-including us-but you also deserve to take care of you for you, too. Baby, it’s just not gonna be good for them or you if you spend your time beating yourself up like this. Trust me.” 

Tony blinks and lowers the mirror as Monica’s words sink in. She may have a point, but…

“My Soulmate. When I…when I got cut? All the side-effects…” Tony trails off as thoughts and images of what they surely went through strangle his voice. 

T’Challa replies, “Well…you left them. And you probably left them while they were dealing with all of that. That is the reality we’re dealing with. But the other part of the reality is that you _and_ they are here now. That’s what reincarnation means, yes? So…it can and will be righted now. Try…to look forward and not backwards.” 

“But what about my dreams?” Tony asks. “If I’m going to try to make any kind of sense out of them at all, then I’ll need to be looking backwards.” 

“Okay”, T’Challa says. “Then look backwards for only as long as you need, and then use it to look forward.” 

Monica nods and squeezes Tony’s knee. “Uh huh! That’s the way to do it! Just like that!” 

For the first time since that appointment with Dr. Yinsen, Tony gives a tiny, tiny smile. 

Monica grins and leans forward to hug him. “That’s it, honey! Now c’mon! Why don’t you put on a shirt and come out with us to see what JARVIS has for us hungry students in the kitchen?”

Still sporting that tiny, tiny smile, Tony nods and carefully gets off the counter. He reluctantly breaks away from Monica and T’Challa to put the mirror away in the cabinet. Next, he takes one of their hands in each of his and walks with them into his bedroom, where he pulls on a shirt. 

He looks warmly at them and says, “…Okay. I’m not promising shit, but…I think I can handle today. I’m sure of it. Ready for snacks, now.” 

His friends beam at him. 

“If JARVIS has any stuffed donuts? I call all of them”, T’Challa says. He bolts out of the bedroom before they can protest. 

“Hey, _no!_!” Monica yells. “You better share those with Tony and me, mister! Or we’ll see who has an empty basket this Halloween!” Monica grabs Tony’s hand and they tear after him, grinning all the way. 

-

James and Tony wait. 

There isn’t anything to do but wait. 

Wait and dream. Even when they are awake, they dream. 

They dream and dream and _dream_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Can you tell that I struggle terribly with writing Tony? Tony Stark Is A Special Kind Of Mess, so...yeah. Lovable, though! Lemme know what you think, friends! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And into the past we go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to say from the first chapter: I categorized this fic as Iron Man (comics) for two reasons: 1.) As of AOU, I am not fucking with MCU!Tony Stark anymore (I...kinda stopped fucking with him as early as IM2, but that's another story for another day) and 2.) The MCU is lily white and even when it _does_ have characters of color (particularly Black characters), there's often not nearly as much depth  & attention given to them by the source material and by the fandom for that matter. But then I look at the comics through Tumblr, bloggers, Scans Daily, etc. and holy _shit_ it can often feel like an in-depth treasure trove of characters of color and that's what I want. 
> 
> So, that's how and why you saw Misty Knight and Asian!Dr. Ho Yinsen. 
> 
> There _are_ a lot of things you will recognize from the MCU in this fic (because watching/listening to something can often stick to me in a way that reading comic panels doesn't always do), but for the most part, we're sticking to comics here. 
> 
> So please enjoy again! Woo! :D 
> 
> Also remember: "Charles" is T'Challa! :D

**East Harlem, New York, April 1931**

“This is it, Monica. This is going to be your very own palace right here. I can see it now”, Charles says. 

“Mmhmm”, James affirms. “This is your break right here, Moni.” 

Monica’s eyes shine as they dance and shimmer with hope. She clasps her hands together in front of her. “Ya’ll really think so? Ya’ll really think it’s gon’ happen?” 

“We know it is”, James says. 

“Absolutely”, Charles says. 

All three of them stand on one of the bustling sidewalks of 126th Street. They face the opposite sidewalk, which holds the soon-to-open Silver Curtain-a bopping, bailing, bouncing club for Colored folk. Along with other few, burgeoning Black-owned establishments that have managed to stay afloat even after the Crash, the two-story club is the subject of much buzz all around the city. The club’s name, emblazoned in cursive across the front of the building, is yet unlit. Also unlit are the huge, round lightbulbs on its corners. Wide, granite steps lead to the closed double doors. Across those double doors is a huge, festive banner that announces, _“Opening June of this Year!”_. 

Monica, Charles, James, and just about all the rest of Harlem can already taste the good eats, dance to the sharp beats, and hear the beautiful jazz music that’ll surely come out of the new Silver Curtain. 

And it is that jazz music that is the reason the three nineteen-year-olds are standing on this sidewalk, eyeing the unlit club during the afternoon. The club sent out a call just three weeks ago for singing auditions and Monica was one of the first of hundreds of women to sign up. Upon signing up, Monica got such bad nerves that Charles suggested a remedy for his Soulmate: every day, until the day of her audition, they would stand together just looking at the Silver Curtain and pretend that it’s already Monica’s, that she already won one of the few available singing spots. Yes, she already won a spot and on that first night? She’s going to sing the damn house down and all the rest of Harlem for that matter, too. Monica is going to sing it all down and she’ll sing it all back up the very next night. 

Every day for the past five days, they’ve done this and it’s actually worked. Monica is much, much calmer with her audition now less than two weeks away. 

Meanwhile, Charles recently got on his way to climbing to his dream job: he got a position as an elementary teacher’s assistant in science and arithmetic in the Tenderloin. It’s a job with high, high chances of him being promoted to an actual teacher in a few years. But for the moment, Charles is just beyond excited to start this coming school year in September. 

And James has always kept a steady, well-paying job at Henry’s Mechanic Shop just down the way. He loves his work just as much as Charles and Monica love the beginnings of theirs. 

Life for the three of them after the Crash is…hectic. 

But, for once, looking up. 

Monica stands between her boys-her Soulmate, Charles, and her best friend, James-and holds both of their hands tightly. She tilts her head as she regards the nightclub. “Still ain’t got any money for some nice dresses to perform in, though. But…we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it?” 

“Uh huh”, James assures and squeezes her hand. “And not only that, but I bet you’ll sing so well that the crowd will be throwing dresses at you at the end of every performance.” 

Charles nods. “That’s right. And they’ll throw you so many dresses, that you won’t even have a lifetime to wear them all. You’ll have to spend hours every morning just figuring out which one to wear.” 

“But that’s not good”, Monica disagrees. “All those people taking the time to throw me dresses, but I don’t get a chance to wear every one of them? That ain’t good at all.” 

“Well…it’s kinda like how you’ll have so many fan letters, but you can’t read ‘em all, right?” James shrugs. “Same thing. They’ll understand and they’ll probably bet you’ll wear _their_ dress anyway.” 

“Right”, Charles says. “You just have to focus on the fact that you’ll be so popular that you get that many dresses thrown at you in the first place. Same with the fan mail.”

Monica chews on her bottom lip and lets her boys’ words mull over in her head. She still gazes at the Silver Curtain and she swears she’s halfway to feeling like a damn child playing pretend every time they do this. Really, standing here pretending that she’s already gone over this hurdle and everything is just perfect as she finally gets to do her dream job. 

To be a popular jazz singer on a popular stage and going on her way to bigger stages. 

She’s dreamed of it nearly her whole life. 

But dammit, Charles is right in suggesting doing this because it’s _working_. The fear and anxiety of what life will look like if she fails her audition is passed over with the happiness and excitement of what life will look like if- _when_ -she succeeds and gets that stage. Monica can actually concentrate worth a damn. Hell, she even manages to sleep in the warm security of Charles’ arms without tossing and turning them into a goddamned bed salad. That’s…all of that is most definitely something. 

“Alright”, Monica says quietly. “I’m good for today. We can go home now.” She squeezes their hands again. 

“Are you sure?” James worries. “We told you don’t worry ‘bout us. This time is about you now, Monica.”

Charles agrees, “We can stay for as long as you need.” 

“No, no. It’s really alright now. I’m fine.” Monica’s carnelian eyes sparkle as she looks at each of them in turn. “Besides, I’m getting hungry. How ‘bout we head on home to collar a meal? Charles, can you whip up one of your one-eyed Sams?” 

Charles nods and kisses her temple. “That’s my Moni.” 

James beams too. “Yeah, lunch at home sounds pretty delicious.” 

They turn to navigate their way through the hustle and bustle of 126th to get home. James lives right next door to Monica and Charles’ apartment, though they’re all three always in and out of each other’s apartments. For example, many of Monica’s prized cloche hats clog up the top shelf of James’ closet; Charles often takes to sprawling on James’ bed to read and work on crossword puzzles in peace while Monica gets one of her singing bugs; and James rarely takes a meal anywhere other than at Monica and Charles’ table. Hell, they all might as well just be living out of two apartments. 

Getting home is…somewhat difficult. Harlem’s beautiful streets, brimming and teeming with black and brown faces, are crowded as it is, but the streets are _extra_ crowded for these last few days. It’s especially difficult for Charles, who sports his new (well…new to them) schoolbag. As soon as Monica bought it for him, complimented with a kiss on the cheek, the man has barely let it out of his sight. He’s stuffed his favorite books in its compartments, lugs the thing around just about every time he leaves home, and even keeps it right at his bedside. Though it now gives him a bit of trouble moving, James and Monica can see that he couldn’t care less. 

People all around Monica, Charles and James stand and mingle and walk about in a coalescing mass. A great many sell apples. Others sell peaches. And still another great many go to take a peek at the Silver Curtain and other up-and-coming establishments-

“Oh!” Monica exclaims. “And while we’re at it? Since _I_ signed up to audition and _Charles_ is finally starting his new job as a teacher’s assistant, you know what that means, right James?” 

James groans and rolls his head back, imploring at the sky as though it’ll get him out of what Monica is about to say next. 

“Oh, donchu give me that groaning and neck roll!” Monica admonishes. “I want you to sign up for those preliminary dance lessons happening next Tuesday at the new Hennessy Ballroom! If we promised to go through with our mess, then you promised to go through with yours. We have a deal. Ain’t that right?” 

James heaves a huge, exasperated sigh. “Monica, please. You’re trying to equate stupid dance lessons with…important life milestones. I mean, you two are finally going in the directions you’ve always wanted. You get to sing and Charles gets to teach. It’s just not the same as…as dancing.” 

“Then why did you agree to the deal?” Charles challenges. 

“Because it was either that or both of you hounding me for the rest a’my days, dammit”, James grouses. 

“Well I say it _is_ an equivalent”, Monica scoffs. “You been had your dream job, James-you’re a mechanic. And we know you love cars and Henry ain’t no asshole and he treats all of you more than right, but…all you do is work and work and work in that mechanic shop, and then you just hang out with Charles an’ me and a few other friends from time to time. It’s not healthy. It’s not healthy at all.” 

Before James can dismiss the truth for the nth time, Charles adds, “You know she’s right. We just want you to expand your wings a little, have a different horizon to look at. Besides, you’ll be helping an upcoming Black-owned business that really needs the money and publicity. It’s a win all the way around.” 

James sighs. “Oh yeah? Well maybe there are no more spaces open by this time.” 

Monica scoffs again. “Something like that would be in the papers! C’mon, baby. Stop beatin’ up your gums here.” 

“It’s…it’s just…” James scrambles for another defense. “It’s money not well-spent, ‘kay? And we don’t have money lyin’ ‘round like that.” 

Charles digs into his school bag with his free hand and pulls out the Hennessy Ballroom’s flyer. It is the same flyer that he put on James’ nightstand a few weeks ago…and found in the trash a few days later. He feigns a confused expression as he flips the flashy flyer to its back page and reads, “‘First dance lessons discounted to half-price’! That means they’re only three dollars a couple and just one dollar for a single person. Wow, it sounds almost as if…that’s within our collective budget…I wonder…” 

“There, see? Ain’t no problem here except for you being needlessly difficult”, Monica says. 

James sighs, already sensing defeat. “Can’t I just…take a raincheck on it? I really do just like working and-”

“No”, Monica and Charles say at the same time. 

“You need to go out bailin’ and not with us all the time”, Monica asserts. 

“And you need to make a new friend or two. It’ll be good for you”, Charles adds. 

James works his jaw and focuses on the warm feeling of Moni’s hand in his. His voice goes quieter with shyness. “…I don’t have a partner, though.” 

“And that’s another problem they’ll solve”, Charles comforts. “I’m sure there will be several other people without partners and so they’ll find you one. It says so in the flyer. Just go and try it out.” 

“Yeah. It’s probably another stroke of luck that you don’t have a partner, James. This way, you can actually meet someone new and get a new friend. It all works out!” Monica says. 

“And, per our deal, if you don’t like it after the first day? Just come straight on home and go into litanies of ‘I told you so’ to Monica and me. We won’t resist.” 

“Not a single shred of resistance. Nope”, Monica agrees. 

James groans and reaches across Monica to take the flyer out of Charles’ hand. He looks at the cheery, bright red-and-orange flyer and thinks…what would be the harm? Like Monica and Charles just said, he doesn’t ever have to go ever again if he doesn’t like it after the first time. And he catches himself thinking about this dance partner that he’ll meet, this dance partner that he’ll have. He really… _could_ stand to meet someone new and he could most certainly stand to make a new friend. As of right now they are faceless and nameless, but James would be lying if he said that he didn’t feel just a little bit of excitement at the thought of dancing with someone new…

James heaves one last, but less-exasperated, sigh and concedes, “Okay, ya’ll. Just one dance lesson.” 

Monica and Charles’ smiles light up all of 126th. 

-

 **Upper West Side, Manhattan**

“Now we move onto…day nursery number three”, Virginia Potts says. “And the funding for that.” 

Anthony smiles tiredly. “You know, that’s funny because that’s what _my_ next papers deal with.” 

“Of course they do.” Virginia looks up at him from her side of the desk. “I organized them that way just this morning. And now you see how smoothly we’re able to work?” 

Anthony pretends to have to ruminate for a moment. “Uhhh…kinda. But to be frank, V, I’m still thinking about firing you. You’re good, but nothing goes _quite_ as smoothly as it should.” 

Virginia snorts. “Oh, please. If you fire me, then you couldn’t find the door. Now concentrate with me. The quicker we get these done, the quicker we can go to dinner with Jarvis.” At the explicit mention of food, their stomachs growl. “What’s on your papers for the day nursery?” 

Virginia and Anthony sit in his office that was once his father’s as they finish as much work as they can before leaving for the night. Howard Stark’s office’s overall aesthetic is muted, yet strong. The carpeted floor is a deep, deep navy with nary a stain, much less a patch that’s not impossibly soft. Much like the many private studies in the Stark estate, the walls are done in a heavy oak panel. Even the office’s double doors that lead to the antechamber are done in a seamless heavy oak panel with their handles made of such painstakingly-polished brass that they shine in the overhead lights. 

To the immediate right of the doors is a stately bookshelf sporting books with every subject from mechanical engineering, executive stock options, dynamic stability, and more. And to the left of the door is a model of the would-be Stark Expo that Howard Stark didn’t live long enough to see realized and his son didn’t know what to do with even years later. Coming deeper into the office and away from the door, one sees that the very middle of the carpet is dominated by the huge insignia of Stark Industries. Directly in front of the insignia is the preened and polished, but cluttered, desk where Virginia and Anthony are working. Right behind the desk is a phonograph that is old and much-beloved. It is upright and genteel despite its years of faithful service to the original owner of the office. 

Sparsely decorating the office are the personal effects and memorabilia of Howard Stark: faded pictures of the equally-late Maria Stark, exhausted, but happy as she cradles a newborn Anthony; another set of faded pictures of the elder Stark contentedly posing with his new board as the doors of the company first open business; several trophies, certificates, awards and the like won by the company and/or the man himself; and a few impersonal notebooks holding his various random ideas and plans. 

The only changes his son made to the office were to get rid of the full decanter of cognac and three sparkling glasses that used to be behind and to the left of the desk.

On Virginia’s insistence, the blinds are open so that the mid-evening sun spills inside, adding much-needed illumination and vitality to the room. They both find themselves taking in glimpses of the setting sun when the tired burning of their eyes threatens to be too much. 

Virginia sits at the head of the desk, furthest from the doors. She’s long-since kicked off her heels and indulges in sinking her toes into the plush carpet. Since they started at about three in the afternoon, she’s undone and redone the fiery red bun at the nape of her neck exactly twenty times. Anthony sits on the other side of the desk. His feet are tiredly propped up on the desk and angled in the opposite direction from Virginia’s face. One hand tugs repeatedly at his disheveled tie while the other hand holds the papers for the day nursery. 

“It’s…funding, too. It’s a proposal from one of my more delightful board members, Mr. Thomas Sanders.” Anthony struggles against the urge to tear the paper in his hands to shreds. “And his polite proposal is to cut their funding by about half because…somehow our future fiscal years will suffer otherwise.” 

Virginia nods and looks at her own papers. “And mine are a funding request to give a fixed 10% increase. This request is from one of the heads of our day nursery, Ms. Tamara Donc. How will we be resolving these two proposals, Mr. Stark?” 

“...Why can’t I just chuck this one into the goddamn boiler? Am I really so new that we have to keep going through this drill over and over?” Anthony asks as he holds up the one from the board. “Fine, it’s not the logical or official way to do shit, but it’d be satisfying, is what I’m saying.” 

Virginia doesn’t miss a beat. “Because if you threw it into a fire or tore it up or threw it in the trash? That’s not giving a ‘yay’ or ‘nay’ and that means you didn’t give an answer at all and you’re required to give an answer, Anthony. Sanders will just come back at us twice as hard and he’ll squawk on and on about how you and your entire side of the pie is ‘lacking in competence’ and ‘unappreciative of how important the chain of command is’ and on and on and on.” 

“Then, when he’s done squawking about that, he’ll gather his buddies around him and they’ll help him squawk even more into trying to cow you into cutting the day nursery’s funding by as much as 30% or more until it’s gone.” 

“So in the end, you need to go ahead and sign that paper with your denial to save yourself yet another, bigger battle ahead. And in avoiding that battle, you’re continuing to protect that day nursery.” She pauses. “I know you feel like you’re never doing enough to help people-particularly your employees-but I and a hell of a lot of people still mean it when we say that you _are_ , Anthony. You really are.” 

Anthony slowly shakes his head at her as he picks up his pen. “Thank you. I do appreciate that-I do. But it’s not about how I feel. It’s just all about how much I can actually utilize this company to help people, especially people that weren’t born with what I was.” 

Before the Crash and before Howard’s death, Stark Industries held a well-earned reputation for always keeping its doors open to the disenfranchised before and above anyone else. Under the elder Stark, the board learned to bite back their complaints early on over how “black, brown foreign and disabled” the human resources department looked. 

After the Crash and after Howard’s death, Stark Industries is one of the very few top American companies still standing. Anthony works hard to not only continue, but improve that legacy. In the two years since he took over, he added two more day nurseries to the one his father already created for his employees; cut as much red tape as he could; slowly began proposing and then opening additional educational/training centers to improve employees’ efficiency; and so, so many more things that keep him in the office with his personal assistant long into the evening hours. It doesn’t help his workload that about half of his board thinks they can take their sweet, sweet, fucking time getting used to the “new brat giving orders”. 

But the unemployment lines still stretch all the way back to Ellis Island. No matter how hard Anthony works, that line not only never seems to get shorter, but seems to get longer and longer every goddamn day he wakes up. 

Virginia smiles gently. “Well, it’s true either way. Now…” She holds up her own pen. “While you sign to deny Mr. Sanders, I’ll sign your approval for Ms. Donc’s request?” 

“Mmhmm”, Anthony says as he grudgingly signs his paper while she signs his name for him with a perfect flourish on the other one.

“I’m telling you, at least half of that board hates me, V”, he grumbles. 

She agrees with a sardonic smirk, “Yes, they do. But that half of the board may eventually come around. Even if they don’t, you have the other half of the board and the chairman on your side. Just give it a while and keep doing what you’re doing.” 

He gives her that smirk right back. “Sure they’ll come around.” 

“I consider possibly-futile optimism to be part of my job description.” She says. 

They chuckle. As they continue on with their work, for the moment, the only sounds in the office are the rustling of papers, the scratch-scratching of pens going, and their stomachs growling. 

Eventually, Anthony’s pile comes across…an envelope with the Stane International address and insignia adorning it. It’s personally addressed to him and him alone. Aware of Virginia’s eyes on him, he opens it up to read the stiff, starchy card inside:

_Our family at Stane International would be honored by your presence at our_

_Formal Dinner Gala_

_To benefit the math & science departments of Colombia University_

_On the Twentieth of July, Nineteen hundred and thirty one_

_7:30pm to 11:30pm_

_Kindly RSVP by the Thirtieth of May to Mrs. Melinda Coors at St-35648_

“Apparently I’d honor people if I graced them with my stately presence at yet another cock-fighting snake pit.” He rubs at his tired eyes as he passes the invitation to her. “How they come up with these seemingly every other damn week, I’ll never know.” 

Before Virginia can answer, the office’s double doors open and Rumiko Fujikawa enters, sable curly hair bouncing around her animated face and bright red lipstick popping against her olive skin. She balances three huge, steaming boxes of pizza with nary a wobble on her high heels. Her large purse hangs haphazardly over her shoulder and bounces against her hip. She grins over the boxes at her two best friends. Anthony and Virginia’s stomachs growl harder and louder at the enticing scent of hot, fresh food. 

“Who wants a break from work in the form of a dinner of pizza complete with extra cheese, extra pepperonis, and a side order of calzones?” Rumiko asks. 

Anthony immediately gets up to take the boxes from her hands and pecks her on the cheek. “You know Jarvis doesn’t like us eating in the office, right? He doesn’t even like us eating anywhere other than the kitchen back home. We’re all going to be in so much trouble if he finds us like this.” 

Though Rumiko and Virginia have their own apartments in Manhattan, they’re both always in and out of Anthony’s mansion. Anthony’s personally decorated and stocked bedrooms for them and he’s always rested better whenever they slept over and/or just stayed for dinner after a long day of work. So it may as well be their house, too. 

“Which is _exactly_ why I brought those here because I knew one or both of you were going to say that…and follow through with it.” Rumiko’s grin gets huge and smug as Anthony pushes his and Virginia’s work out of the way to make room for dinner. “Right?” 

Virginia walks around the desk to soundly peck her other cheek and takes her purse from her. “Why’d you carry that all the way up here by yourself? You could’ve called us to help you with it, you know.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” Rumiko waves away the other woman’s concern. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you two hard working business folk. No problem whatsoever! Also, check my bag-there’s some ice cold Coke in there.” 

“And here we go…” Anthony comes toward them with one of the pizza boxes wide open. “Ladies always get first slices. And thanks a ton, Rumi.” 

They all take a long, long look and a long, deep whiff of the oregano and olive oil and onion and tomato and cheese and pepperoni and every single damn good thing that goes into making a good pizza worthy of New York City inhabitants.

“Delish”, Rumiko says as she takes a huge slice and stuffs half of it in her mouth. 

“Blood sugar”, Virginia breathes as she, too, takes a huge slice, and then chomps off a large bite. 

Anthony leads them back to the desk where they settle down for a wonderful, completely-forbidden-by-Jarvis-meal-in-the-office. As there are only two chairs available, Rumiko comfortably perches herself on Anthony’s knee to eat. She kicks her shoes off just as Virginia did and jovially swings her legs. Anthony’s always harbored a fear that she and Virginia would fall and hurt themselves when they sit on his lap like this and so, out of habit, he curls his pizza-less arm around Rumiko’s waist. It never fails to make his two best friends smile. 

“So how was your day out, Rumi?” Virginia asks as she starts on her third slice. 

“Great! Got a lot of work done and ground covered. It seems the plane is pretty much the same. Nothing urgent. Well, except…one thing”, Rumiko replies. 

While Virginia’s official job is as Anthony’s personal assistant, so Rumiko’s official job is as Anthony’s personal corporate intelligence. Virginia is often mistaken for an overrated accountant and Rumiko is often mistaken for an overzealous socialite. And more often than not, those misperceptions suit their work just fine. 

Anthony holds up the charity gala invite from Stane International. “You mean this?” 

Rumiko nods and leans slightly out of his lap to take a piece of calzone. “Mmhmm. Heard about that going around both in this building and while I was out. It has all the usual big names attending and it looks like you’re expected to be a guest of honor. I know you tolerate those things at best, but I don’t think you should try to get outta this one.” 

“The head of that company is a guy called Obadiah Stane. He may ring a bell for you”, Rumiko continues as she swirls her Coke around. “And keep on your toes ‘round him-he knows you’re young and green as hell just like everyone else does.” 

“If I recall correctly, he entered into quite a few business dealings with your father”, Virginia adds. “Based on what I’ve gathered from those books, there was nothing unforthcoming or dishonest.” 

“He’s…a shrewd one. He had to be, to keep his company up during the Crash, just like SI. But overall, I don’t think he’s too much to watch out for.” 

Virginia nods around a sip of Coke. “That’s right. The most you’d probably have to worry about is some easily-turned-down tender offer or a proposal to merge”, Rumiko says. 

Anthony weighs their words in his mind, still eyeing the invitation. “…Will one of you go with me to this one? I…” He trails off and unconsciously holds Rumiko closer. 

If it weren’t for these two, he’d be going to these events all by himself with no one present that he knows and/or is friends with. And there have always been times when they genuinely couldn’t go with Anthony and those…those were almost always the hardest for him. To be surrounded constantly by people he didn’t know. People that snuffed him out, zeroed in on him, and then preyed on everything he has and holds until he swears he’s just a vessel for their own gain and desire. 

Deep down, it scares him how rapidly he’s becoming used to it. 

But it’s always much, much easier with at least one of his friends at his side. 

“Oh, sure. Why are you even asking? We always let you know if we can’t. I think it’s Virginia’s turn this time”, Rumiko says. 

“Yep. I’ll do my best to clear my schedule and go with you”, Virginia confirms. She chews thoughtfully on her fourth slice of pizza, and then squints at Rumiko. “…Speaking of going to these galas, are you ever going to give me my purple dress back? You know the one with the little train?” 

“Depends. Are you ever going to return my star earrings? You said you were going to _months_ ago”, Rumiko shoots back. 

“Well, what about my red lipstick? Hell, you’re wearing it right now!” 

“It’s a good shade! Besides, admit it: it looks better on me than it does on you. I’m doing you a favor!” 

There’s a collective gasp from both Anthony and Virginia. Virginia pretends to raise her eyebrow dangerously at Rumiko and gripes, “Well, you know what? I felt the very same thing about your star earrings. Too bad _they_ look better on _me_!” 

“You wished they look better on you! They’re just so bright and starry that you can’t even see your real reflection, V! It’s the same thing with my favorite yellow pumps you still have!” 

“And what about my red-and-blue polka-dot dress?! You talk about not being able to see your own reflection, but you can’t even see yourself in that! You’re two sizes smaller than me, anyway!” The other woman exclaims.

“I was _going_ to give it back to you, but it was raining that day!” 

“But you can always go out and get food no matter the weather!” 

“I’m hungry!” 

“So am I!” 

“Anthony!” They both snap at the quiet man. 

Anthony swallows his mouthful of Coke. Without looking at either woman, he quietly says, “I see you both love each other very, very much, hence how you’re still sharing your things. It’s nice to know.” 

“Umm…no.” Rumiko corrects. “I love clothes and pizza more than I love her.” 

“And I love makeup and pizza more than I love her”, Virginia confirms. 

A tiny, mischievous smile forms on his lips as he says, “Is that so? ‘Cause I was going to say that I love pizza _and_ coke more than I love the two of you.” 

Rumiko sags in his lap and Virginia stares open-mouthed at him. 

“Anthony… _really_.” 

“How could you.” 

“That’s it”, Rumiko decides. She fully undoes the now-sloppy tie around his neck and in less than three seconds…turns it into a makeshift hairband for herself. “All of your ties are now my hair accessories until further notice. This is your punishment.” 

Virginia laughs into her bottle of Coke. “It looks nice on you that way, Rumi. Very nice! You should go ahead and take all of his ties out of his dresser. I’ll help you.” 

Rumiko winks at the other woman and strikes a pose on Anthony’s lap. “Thanks! I’ll let ya know when it’s a good time for me!” 

“How come every time you two get into a half-assed argument, _I’m_ the one who ends up losing?” Anthony complains as he stuffs some calzone into his mouth. 

Rumiko pouts. “What did you lose? You gained seeing me be my usual fashionable, fabulous self! Why, that’s the best prize!” 

“ _And_ you gained not having to wear a tie at anymore at all!” Virginia adds. “It may even set off a new fashion trend for men.” 

Both women chuckle. 

Anthony just rolls his eyes and adjusts Rumiko in his lap. Well, at least his neck feels ten times less stuffy and scratchy. He notices something colorful sticking out of his pushed-away-stack-of-papers. Frowning, he pulls it out. “What’s this…?” 

It is a flyer. 

A flyer that is advertising…an introductory, discounted dance lesson at the Hennessy Ballroom in Harlem. 

Intrigued and already knowing that the two women- _plus Jarvis_ -are to blame, he opens the flyer with his free hand and reads further. When he’s done, he says slowly, “This sounds like fun. What, this to help train me in how to properly dance for more events?” 

Virginia speaks just as slowly. “No. It’s for you to relax and have fun, even if it’s only for a few hours.” 

“It’s so you can step out of being Anthony Stark, ultra-important and powerful CEO of Stark Industries that always has to work and work and work. You need a break”, Rumiko supplements. 

“Also so…maybe you can make another friend that’s not us for a change”, Virginia says. “And even if you don’t make another friend, well…meet some new people comfortably.” 

Anthony slowly puts the Hennessy Ballroom flyer on the desk. He keeps his gaze on it and says softly, “…You know I’d have to, uh, put on my disguise for this, right? The same disguise I wear when Jarvis takes me on his grocery trips and whatnot?” 

“Uh huh”, Rumiko says. “What’s wrong with that? It’s just a dance lesson and you’ll be in and out in no time. Plus, V and I wear disguises all the time, too.” 

Virginia agrees, “You’ll be comfortable. And you might like it…which is why we snuck it in there in the first place.” 

Anthony grimaces. “But if neither one of you go with me, then I don’t even have a partner.” 

“ _Exactly_ ”, Virginia stresses. “You need to go find another friend, even if this is going to be a very casual friend that you only see during dance lessons.” 

“That’s right! I mean, haven’t you heard? Harlem and its nightlife are all the rage, especially with their sights and attractions and it’s really the place to go to meet someone!” Rumiko gushes around a bite of pizza. “Plus most of the people there are Colored, like me, and that automatically guarantees you’re gonna have a _gorgeous_ , perfect dance partner, Anthony.” 

For just a moment, all of Anthony’s work that’s waiting to be done races through his mind. A light panic nearly takes ahold of him at the thought of abandoning it for a while-just a while-and he holds Rumiko even closer to stave it off. He can reasonably disappear into Harlem for just a day or two or three, if he likes the dance lessons-Rumi and V just said so. And…a dance partner. Someone to meet and have fun with and relax with once a week. He’s somewhat skeptical that they’ll want to be friends with him, but there’s surely no harm in meeting and dancing with someone new…

Anthony smiles and shifts Rumiko in his lap again. “Yeah, that’s true…that’s all true. Guess I’m…taking a day off for dance lessons, huh?” 

Both women nod, matching smiles on their own faces. 

“And if you don’t like it, just let us know and we can try something else”, Virginia says. 

Rumiko gulps down the last of her Coke. “But the key is to just…get you out of here for a while. Really get you-”

The voice all three of them hoped not to hear chimes from just outside the double doors, “Rumiko! Virginia! Anthony! Are you three ready t-” 

Jarvis cuts himself off, no doubt smelling their first dinner through the door. When he opens it, his mouth pinches as his suspicions are confirmed. His exasperated blue eyes take in the incrimination right in front of him and his mouth pinches even more with disapproval. 

“…Pray, what did I tell _all three of you_ about eating in the office? And not even an hour from dinner at home, to top it off.” 

Dammit. 

-

James takes yet another deep, deep breath as he looks up at the brand new Hennessy Ballroom. 

While it was being built, he admittedly hadn’t had time to pay much attention to it but, now that he sees it in all its finished glory, he’s enthralled by its beauty. The finished building is a three-story rectangle that dominates this block of Harlem’s 125th Street. With the afternoon sun reflecting brightly off it, the cream-colored exterior of the ballroom looks so new and smooth that James feels the strong temptation to brush his hand against it. The many windows are simply huge and surely stretch from floor to ceiling; he can vaguely make out curtains pulled back to allow the sunlight in. A few of the windows are even open, no doubt allowing fresh breaths of air in where the smell of still-drying paint can be overwhelming. 

Directly in front of him is the main revolving glass doors that are complete with shined silver handles and a checkered entry floor below them. Right above those doors is an adjacent buttress that supports the name, in block letters of the ballroom- _The Hennessy Ballroom_ -and looks just as smooth as the rest of the exterior. And right above the name is a bright blue banner, on which declares in white, cursive lettering, _“Welcome to the premier of the Hennessy Ballroom!”_. Twinkling, swirling waltz music floats to meet ears outside and is barely disrupted by all the gentle chaos on the sidewalk. 

And the whole place just _teems_ with people. James actually stands in the middle of a lively, near-roaring crowd of people. Their voices mingle with the wafting waltz music. A great many go right inside, disappearing within the revolving doors and another great many still stand outside like James and just take in one of the yet another new, wonderful addition to 125th Street. Four employees stand outside the doors, warmly smiling and welcoming all who come in, all who are still hesitant to come in, and all who promise to come in another time. 

James swallows heavily and checks his watch-he has just another fifteen minutes before he’s officially late to his first-ever dance lesson. 

He can do this…he _should_ do this. Monica was brave enough to sign up for auditions and Charles was brave enough to interview for that assistant teaching job. And in each of their endeavors, he supported and cheered them on because to see friends succeed is one of the most beautiful things in the world. Just like they said-to go in here is to fulfill his side of the deal, to go and do something that he may enjoy and meet someone new. 

Someone that he may even become friends with. 

And if he doesn’t like any part of this, he can turn right around and head straight home. 

James squares his shoulders, plasters a smile on his face, and marches right into those revolving doors. He’s instantly caught up in the wave of people heading in the same direction. He feels something shy of giddy as he pushes through the doors and he sees his and all these people’s reflections shining in the moving glass…

…And then he’s inside the first floor of the Hennessy Ballroom and, if possible, it’s even more packed than the sidewalk outside with the waltz music even louder. There are more employees kindly directing all the people in the right direction. James just stays with the massive flow, letting the excited chatter and animated humanity wash over him. Soon the mass is lead to three huge double doors that then lead to three individual ballrooms. Here, the people stop as more employees separate them into one of the three ballrooms. James swallows uneasily as he sees that most people go into their respective ballrooms in pairs and rarely by themselves. 

_You’ll find a partner. They always find you a partner…relax…_

James is politely led into the second ballroom and he quickly finds a place towards the back. The ballroom is simply breathtaking. This one has two of its huge windows wide open and the early afternoon sunlight splashes pure gold onto the freshly waxed wooden floorboards. Two of the other three, windowless walls are nothing but floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Pushed up against the walls are comfortable chairs on which people place jackets, purses, hats and the like. Right in the front of the room is a turntable that’s playing the music. 

As the time for the lesson to start comes closer, more people pour in and James can’t help but marvel at how there’s still more than enough space to dance in the ballroom. Soon, the owner of the Hennessy Ballroom, Ms. Luanne Griffons, comes in. 

With skin rich and dark as ebony and dark hair tightly-curled, she’s about one of the frailest eels James has ever seen. She turns the turntable off and addresses the crowd, “Good afternoon, everyone and welcome! You know, about twenty years ago, my mama and daddy dreamed of something like this, god rest their souls. I dreamed right along with them. And it was twenty years ago when I said that I was going to make my and my family’s dream come true.” 

“And look a’here, ’bout twenty years later! The grand opening of the Hennessy Ballroom and more than 500 patrons on its first afternoon!” 

The entire room erupts into applause and cheers of congratulations. Ms. Luanne inclines her head at the crowd. She delicately dabs at tears forming in her eyes with the pads of her fingers. “And ya’ll know the funny thing is that Imma give this same speech to the other two rooms and I’m still going to tear up just the same. So ya’ll pray for me that I at least don’t ruin this makeup, hear?” 

She’s met with high-ringing laughter. 

Smiling through her teary eyes, she continues, “We really are _so glad_ you’re here and we sincerely hope every last one of you comes back for more lessons. And when you’re comfortable with your lessons and what you’ve learned from them, you’ll come back for some fun, great evenings of dance, dining and partying with us too.” 

“Now first: by a show of hands, how many people are without a partner?” 

James raises his hand. He looks around and sees that a good handful of the room also raised their hands. He damn near melts right through the floorboards in relief. 

His hand stays raised while Ms. Luanne silently counts, then declares, “Oh, wonderful! We have an even number today! But just for future reference: if ever there isn’t an even number, not to worry! We have plenty of assistants here that’ll be more than happy to partner with you!” She says, gesturing to the smiling people in question at her side. 

With the help of said assistants, Ms. Luanne begins partnering those that are single. There’s a bit of shuffling and moving around accompanied by politeness as people move to their assigned partners. Ms. Luanne points to James and says, “You, young man in the back!” She then points to another man also in the back, not far from James, and says, “With this young man over here, please!” 

Both of them turn and make eye contact at the same time that the other man comes towards James. But James is still so nervous that he can only make out that his brand new dance partner is a White man, one of very few in the building. He comes to stand close beside James and they give each other a courteous nod, and then once more direct their attention to Ms. Luanne. 

“Today will just be the very basics and learning to be comfortable in the rhythm and step of your own body. So just for the first ten minutes, I want you to simply sway with your partner. This way, you can get the feel of your own body’s rhythms and get comfortable moving with another person, as well as just moving in general before we move on to actual positions”, she explains. 

“Because though a lot of dancing is practiced steps, dancing is also about your own internal rhythm and your own interpretation of the dance moves. There ain’t no right or wrong way to do it, so long as you don’t hurt yourself and/or your partner. And there’s definitely little to no risk of you getting hurt here and even if you did, we do have first aid kits on hand.” Ms. Luanne thinks for a moment. “Speaking of first aid kits, it’s perfectly alright if you want to step a lil while you sway. We’re all sure that your partner _will_ forgive you if you step on their toes every once in a while.” 

Chortles and snickers echo through the ballroom. 

Ms. Luanne claps her hands and her face alights with a brand new smile. She turns the record back on the turntable and sets it to a slower waltz. “Well! That’s enough talk from me! So, everyone please grab your partners and start swaying!” 

When James turns to face his partner, he finds himself staring at the most vibrant pair of blue eyes behind glasses he’s ever seen. Their irises are melted steel and, as they return James’ gaze, they melt even more. Most of his shock of black hair is hidden beneath a dark-grey flat cap. His mustache gives a frame to shyly smiling lips. The rest of his outfit closely matches James’: plain black trousers pulled up high by red suspenders and with a grey button-down tucked into them. And, also like James, his button-down’s sleeves are rolled up to expose his forearms. 

He smells so very, very good. The scent of fresh pine washes over James and it’s the kind of fresh pine that, if one goes early enough in the morning to Glanden Park, can be crunched under the feet to release the scent. You inhale the scent deeply enough and your lungs are full of a sweetness that’s so pleasantly tart and sharp that you take another inhale. 

Though James can’t quite place it, his new dance partner’s face looks somewhat familiar. He doesn’t think on it too long, though-they have swaying to do. Returning the shy smile, he says, “Hi there.” 

“H-hello. Good afternoon.” The man’s voice is soft and deep and it smooths over James’ ears like the softest smoldered steel. 

It’s a bit of awkward fumbling and stepping as they step into the each other’s arms. The man’s warm right hand goes to James’ waist at the same time that James’ left hand goes up to rest on his shoulder. Then it’s James’ right hand in his left and they’re gently swaying along with the rest of the couples around them. 

They share another smile and then they’re both just looking anywhere but each other. James’s dance partner finds something interesting out the window and James becomes engrossed in the record turning over and over at the front of the room. He can vaguely hear the other couples all around them talking quietly to each other and starts to feel awkward at the silence between them. And they _are_ going to be dance partners for as long as they continue to take lessons. Hell, they’ve fit into each other’s arms just fine and their swaying has resulted in no stepped-on feet so far (though, if there were stepped-on feet, he has a feeling his partner wouldn’t mind too much). On top of that, he really does like his partner’s voice. He likes his voice a lot. Maybe… 

“So, uhh…you got a name?” James asks in a soft, tentative voice. 

His partner’s voice surprised, he responds, “A name? Why, of course I got a name.” He pulls back a little to grin at James and those eyes are bright with warmth. “Don’t worry; your new dance partner is not so weird that he doesn’t have a name. Yes, I-I have a name.” 

There’s a long, long pause in which James and the other man just…keep looking and smiling at each other. James’ smile becomes awkward. One of his eyebrows lifts slightly and thrice his eyes dart from his partner’s face to the side and back again. When there’s still no other answer, he thinks that someone here might be even more nervous than he is. 

James struggles to bring his eyebrow down and take the discomfort out of his smile. “You know, that’s…good. That’s really, really good that you have a name.” 

“Oh yes, I think so too.” The man nods just a little too hard. “Names are good things to have.”

“Yep.” 

It’s another long, long pause in which they keep smiling at each other for just a little while. Eventually, they break eye contact and stare at their respective things that catch their interest. James looks out the window and his partner looks down at the ornate chandeliers reflected in the floorboards. 

James tries again. 

“Umm…do you think you wanna _tell_ me your name sometime?” 

“I’d love that, actually. I think that’s a good idea. I agree with you on that, too. Yeah, I’d love to tell you my name”, his partner responds in low, rapid fire succession. 

_Definitely_ nervous. 

James struggles to keep his voice soft and completely devoid of laughter. “Oh…you would, huh?” 

“Yeah, I would”, he confirms. 

“Well, that’s…good”, James says. “That’s really, really good that you’d love to tell me your name.” 

“Oh yeah, for sure.” 

“Yep.” 

It’s their third long, long pause. James struggles terribly to keep his laughter in by taking deep, shaking breaths and squeezing his eyes shut. He wracks his brain to figure out something to help his partner’s nervousness as soon as possible, but all he can immediately think of is not bursting into a fit of laughter. 

Another few seconds and James can feel the dawning of understanding across his partner. He feels more than hears the embarrassed gasp and he struggles all the harder to quell his laughing. 

“Oh, _shit_!” The other man hisses. “You were actually asking for my name!” 

At this point, James’s eyes are smarting and he’s breathing unevenly through his mouth. He leans forward until his forehead is resting against the other man’s broad shoulder. His shoulder feels good as a support; warm and firm with muscle, but soft and yielding enough for James. He gasps, “You know, I think you and I are gonna like each other just fine during these dance lessons. Yeah, I think…yeah, I think this’ll be just fine. Wow…” 

His dance partner shakes his head slowly and they both lean slightly away to make eye contact. James’ eyes are mirthful while the other man’s eyes are embarrassed. 

He replies, “T-Tony. My name is Tony.” 

“‘Tony’?” James cocks his head in curiosity, face still bright with amusement. “Is there a last name that goes with that? Or do I gotta go through another laugh attack to hear ‘bout it?” 

“You know, I was _just_ about to tell you that you might need another laugh attack to earn that one, but…what the hell.” He grins and winks at James. “It’s ‘Carbonell’. I’m Tony Carbonell.” 

“Ahh. It sure is nice to meet you, Mr. Tony Carbonell. My name is James Rhodes.” 

It’s his partner’s turn to cock his head in curiosity. “‘James Rhodes’?” He looks up at the ceiling and smiles, thinking for a moment. “‘James’…that’s…that’s really pretty and really strong. That suits you.”

James’ soft brown eyes shimmer and spark, accidentally wreaking havoc on Anthony in their beauty. “My name is ‘pretty and strong’ huh?” 

“Mm-hmm. Very much so”, Anthony responds, voice warm in its sincerity. 

Anthony tries hard not to stare too hard into James’ eyes. Hell, he’s been trying not to stare at the entirety of his dance partner period ever since he first spotted him across the room. And his eyes…his eyes are just one of the most beautiful shades of brown he’s ever seen. They’re a pair of dark, glistening diaspores gazing out of a face that’s a glowing chestnut. He melts in their pure earnestness and intelligence. 

And James smells _incredible_. Anthony indulges in just about every kind of cologne there is to be had, but he can’t place the exact one James must be using. The only thing he’s deduced so far is that it has to be coming from James’ hair…and Anthony has no idea what pomade oil it could be or even if it is pomade oil at all. He stays as subtle as he can in inhaling the scent deep, deep into his lungs. Luckily, the other man seems to be oblivious to Anthony’s sniffing. 

Goddammit, Rumiko told him that he’d be sure to find a beautiful dance partner in Harlem, but he still wasn’t prepared. 

James blinks and searches Tony’s face, trying to place any teasing or, hell, even mendacity. But he finds nothing but sincerity. “Believe me, I’m flattered, Tony. But how is my name ‘really pretty and really strong’? It’s just a name…” James glances over to the window in thought for a moment, “…and it’s just a name with one syllable.” 

“Well…it just is”, Anthony insists. “It’s like the sound of a bell ringing. Like those really nice bells from Notre Dame, you know? ‘James’. And when those bells are ringing, they sound pretty and strong at the same time. And it’s only one syllable because that’s all you need to convey their beauty. That goes with you. So it suits you.” 

James once again searches Anthony’s face and, once again, finds only sincerity. A sheepish smile comes to his face as he takes in the unique compliment. “Well, I…thank you. Thank you very much.” 

Anthony smiles right back at James and says softly, “You’re very welcome.” 

“You know, I…can’t really explain it, but I feel like I’ve seen you before. Have we met?” James asks. 

Anthony doesn’t lose his composure. This isn’t the first time someone has almost recognized him while he’s out in disguise. He easily keeps the smile on his face and replies, “Hmm…no. I don’t think we’ve ever met. But if we ever did meet before, it’s wonderful to see you again. Long time, no see, huh?” He winks again. 

James gives one short burst of laughter before he clamps his mouth shut and hides it behind a snort. Still, another couple or two glances at them. He bites his lip as snickers still make their way through. “You…are a _mess_. Just a mess.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry”, Anthony says, half-contrite. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh so hard.” 

“No, no! It’s…it’s nice. It’s nice to be able to laugh with a dance partner.” He frowns. “But, umm…speaking of laughter? I’m sorry to have laughed at you earlier when I tried to ask you your name. Are you…always full of anxiety like that? Or I should I have been clearer?” 

“Aww, no, it’s okay. I, uhh…don’t struggle too much with anxiety or anything in general, thank goodness. It’s just that this is my first-ever official dance lesson and you’re my first-ever official dance partner”, Anthony responds, half-lying. _And you are attractive as all hell._

“Oh, great! Yeah, I’m pretty nervous because this is my first time, too.” 

They smile at each other and then it’s back to looking at every other place in the ballroom except at the other person. But this time, the silence is completely comfortable with nary a tinge of awkwardness. 

After a while, Anthony whispers, “Am I holding you too tight?” 

James looks back into those steel blues and whispers back, “No. You’re actually holding me just right.” 

“That’s good. I like holding you just right.” Unconsciously, Anthony pulls James just a little closer. 

In response, James tightens his grip on Anthony’s shoulder. 

Ms. Luanne comes back in from attending to the other two ballrooms. For several moments, she stands and casually observes the dancers with her assistants. It’s another several moments before she announces, “Alright, class! The ten minutes are up and I mos’ definitely _love_ what I’m seein’ so far!” 

James and Anthony take a moment longer than is polite to realize they’re allowed pull apart. It’s a sharing of an awkward chuckle and stolen glances when as they finally disengage from each other. Still, as they turn like the other couples to face Ms. Luanne at the front of the room, they stand close together. 

“Now, what I love that I’m seeing”, Ms. Luanne continues, “is how everyone seems to be very close to having a basic grasp of what is called the ‘closed position’.” 

Excited and curious murmurs rise at both the praise and the opportunity to learn something new. Ms. Luanne smiles and cautions, “But, first…with the closed position, one partner puts their hand around the other’s waist while the other partner puts their hand on the shoulder. That’s the very, very basic part of the closed position. That’s the part that a whole lotta people have actually seen before, but just never knew the correct terminology until now.” 

“What I want to caution you against? Well, raise your hands if you’ve always been hearin’ that the one who has the hand at their waist is the woman and the one who has the hand on their shoulder is the man? I just’ wanna know if you’ve always _heard_ that it’s that way.” Ms. Luanne lifts her hand right up, her assistants with her. 

Just about every other hand goes up. 

Ms. Luanne nods. “Uh huh. Thought so. Well, then!” She claps her hands. “Here, in the Hennessy, I want you all to-wait for it-completely discard that notion. Do your best to get it fresh outta your heads, ‘cause here is where you don’ have to worry about that anymore.” 

“It’s not about ‘woman’s place this’ and ‘man’s place that’. I see we have a lotta same-gender couples, so a lotta ya’ll may know what I’m talkin’ about. It’s about who is comfortable with what position, hear? So whoever likes to have the hand on the waist should have the hand on the waist and whoever likes to have the hand on their shoulder should have the hand on the shoulder. And either partner can lead.” 

At this, James leans over and whispers in Anthony’s ear, “I like your hand on my waist. You mind?” 

Anthony’s eyes shine and he whispers back, “Couldn’t mind even if I tried.” 

“Just be sure to communicate and, if you like, switch up the positions a bit.” 

A ripple of mischievous laughter goes through the crowd. Even the assistants laugh. 

Ms. Luanne blinks and, realizing the unintended joke, laughs herself. “Well…on one hand, yeah, that advice _can_ go that way…” 

The laughter increases in volume and intensity and Ms. Luanne shrugs helplessly and continues, “And I can see a lotta church goers here need to keep on goin’. Lord.” 

At that, nearly everyone in the room-including James and Anthony-is doubled over, clapping their hands, leaning on their partner for support and wiping tears from their eyes. 

“But in all seriousness”, Ms. Luanne laughs, “Let’s show you all the closed positon which, by the way, is often the most-commonly used position in ballroom waltz…” 

-

“That was a lot of fun”, James remarked. “And it was nice they had surprise complimentary snacks for us at the end. Those cookies were delicious.” 

“Yeah, they were to die for”, Anthony agrees, “I really enjoyed myself. We should do this again.” 

James and Anthony stand outside the Hennessy Ballroom, their lessons and snacks over. They’re far out of the way of the revolving doors, from which the other 500 of their fellow students are exiting in satisfied droves. To hear each other over the glowing exclamations of their first time in the Hennessy Ballroom, they stand close together. 

James starts to smile, but then tilts his head and squints at the other man. “But…are you _sure_ we’ve never met before? Where’re you from?” 

“West Harlem”, Anthony lies easily. 

“Oh. You mean ‘round Sugar Hill?” 

Anthony barely has any idea what James is talking about, but he goes along with it. “Uh huh. The very one!” 

James nods. “Yeah, parts of that side still look a lil pale every now and then.” 

“Uh huh.” Anthony fixes his flat cap and asks, “But…are _you_ going to do this again? Are you going to come back and…dance with me?” 

Though Tony tried to hide it, James isn’t oblivious to the pleading in those eyes. It bled into his voice anyway. He found out quick today that when Tony is nervous, humor and teasing are the quickest ways to get him comfortable again. James smiles softly, feeling playful. “Do you _want_ me to come back just so I can dance with you, Tony?” 

“Well, yeah, I would. I would like that very much.” A shy smile graces Anthony’s lips. 

James opens and closes his mouth a few times before he probes a little deeper, “What if I said I’m not coming back here?” 

“Then I’d ask you where else I may see you again.” 

Anthony thinks for a moment, then modifies, “ _May_ I see you again?” He lowers his head, a coy smile on his face, and looks at James through his eyelashes. “Oh pretty James, oh pretty please?”

James eyes widen, and then he bursts into such a fit of laughter that he has to hold onto the wall to stay upright. “You really _are_ a mess.” Still chuckling, he shakes his head at the opposite side of the street, then he returns Tony’s gaze. “Sure, yeah. I’m comin’ back here. And I’d be more than happy to dance with you again.” 

“Great! So…see ya next Tuesday?” Anthony’s soul lights up like it’s Christmas. 

“Yeah, I’ll see ya next Tuesday. I can’t wait.” 

“Me either.” 

“Well…bye for now, Tony Carbonell.” 

“Bye, James Rhodes.” 

They smile and part ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a relatively small detail, but the phone number that you see in the gala invitation? I researched the way 1930 phone numbers were, but a lot of what I found was non-nonsensical to me and/or it's just so early in the morning that my comprehension is down, haha. 
> 
> So if that fake phone number is incorrect, please feel free to let me know and point me to where I can get it right! Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Next Tuesday, James finds himself back in the Hennessy and waving at Tony from across the same ballroom they were in the last time. Tony wears his grey flat cap, glasses and a huge, huge smile on his face as he waves back at him. 

They meet each other halfway in the middle of the ballroom. James’ smile just might split his face from ear to ear. “There you are!”

“Here I am”, Tony cheerfully confirms. 

James and Anthony spend the next three seconds stupidly smiling at each other. 

“You know, my friends told me to just come on straight home if I didn’t like my first lesson here”, James shares. “But I’m glad to say that I ended up enjoying this and so I’m back.” 

“Same here!” Anthony replies, thinking about his similar deal with Virginia and Rumiko. “Did you go back to them and hear just about nothing but ‘I told you so’?” 

“Sure did. And even when they weren’t saying it aloud, you could just read it in their smug faces”, James laughs. 

“I know. I hear you on that.” 

Ms. Luanne Griffons comes in with her assistants just then. She smiles and greets the room with a warm, “Good afternoon everyone!” 

She’s met with a ringing chorus of greetings. The dance instructor claps her hands together and gives a cursory look over the crowd. “Well, it looks like we got a whole new slew of faces here! The Hennessy is almost at full capacity and so, an additional hello to everyone new here!” 

There’s a round of clapping and a general, enthusiastic air of welcome for the new patrons. Then it’s Ms. Luanne and her assistants pairing singles off. She separates the new patrons into a group on one side of the ballroom so they can catch up on the closed position, and then instructs the rest of the people to warm up with practicing said position. She announces that what will follow is spinning (swing dance style) and after that, will come the Lindy Hop. At the mention of the Lindy Hop, a ripple of excited chatter goes through the room. 

James and Anthony get into the closed position. Though there’s still just a tinge of awkwardness, they move much more smoothly now. Anthony’s right hand goes to the upper part of James’ back, his fingers closed and his wrist at the junction of James’ arm and back. In turn, James rests his left hand and forearm on Anthony’s upper arm, where his deltoid and bicep meet. Next, they offset their feet so that one of their right feet stands between the other’s. 

They let their bodies sway just a little for a while, and then they step. Gently, slowly, they step in the circle of their little space. 

_One, two, three…one, two, three…_

_Slow and easy…slow and easy…_

James and Anthony find themselves inhaling each other’s scents again. Anthony is quietly thrilled that that unknown, but wonderful, scent is still there from James’ hair; James is quietly disappointed that Anthony doesn’t radiate the scent of pine anymore. 

Still, James likes whatever cologne Anthony is wearing at the moment. 

“You smell like apricots this time, Mr. Carbonell”, he notes. 

“Oh, yeah. Do you like it?” Anthony asks. 

“Uh huh. Smells great.” 

“So do you, Rhodey!” 

“Thanks-wait, ‘Rhodey’? What’s a ‘Rhodey’?” James asks. He blinks and pulls back a little to look in confusion at the other man. 

Anthony winces at his slip and rushes to explain, “Oh! See, I…I do this thing where I give people that I really, really like nicknames randomly. It’s just…I like you, and so nicknames for you randomly pop into my head. It’s just a thing about me. Are you…okay with that?” 

“Hmmm…” James rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, pretending to think about it. 

“But I mean, if you’re not, it’s okay! Really!” Anthony assures him. “S’just a quirk of mine!” 

“Well”, James starts slowly, “Nothin’ wrong with it. That’s…nice and sweet, actually. And I’m so flattered that you already like me so much that you’re giving me a nickname. ‘Rhodey’…that sounds nice and comes from my last name, huh?” 

Anthony nods. “Yeah, it does. See? I just put it together and it pops in my head.” 

“Nice. But…” James pretends to pout at him. “What ever happened to all that talk ‘bout ‘James is strong and pretty like the bells of Notre Dame’, huh? What’s ‘Rhodey’ got that ‘James’ don’t? Tony, you sayin’ you ain’t likin’ my given name anymore?” 

“No, no, no! Of course I still love your given name. I just-” Anthony cuts himself off at the mischievous twinkling in James’ eyes. “…You’re just fucking with me right now, aren’t you?” 

James is biting his lip in his struggle to contain his snickering. “‘M sorry. Can’t help it. You’re just so…sweet and easy to like! I relax so much ‘round you- I gotta mess with you.” 

Anthony pretends to work his jaw in annoyance. “Alright. Okay. _Fine._ But I’m warning you, now: don’t you dare relax too much because I can play too and I will get your tricky ass back, Rhodey. That’s a promise.” 

“Oh, I _know_ you can play, too, Tony. I pick that up quick. And I’ll be eagerly awaiting your revenge.” 

“Good.” 

They share a laugh. 

It’s a few seconds of comfortable silence and then James says, pleasure shining out of his eyes, “But…‘Rhodey’. I do like that very much. Thank you.” 

“I’m happy that you like it. That makes me happy.” 

They smile at each other. 

Soon, the warm-up is over and Ms. Luanne and her assistants are calling the patrons’ attention to the front of the room. 

“That was an excellent review of the closed position, everyone!” She praises. “I’m still very, very pleased with what I’m seeing and so it’s time to move onto spinning, swing dance style!” 

“Now, to me, this here move is one of the great moves to build on from the closed position.” Ms. Luanne turns to the side and gets into the closed position with one of her assistants. The other assistants follow suit, so everyone can see from multiple angles. 

“Of course our steps are important in this dance move”, Ms. Luanne continues. “But Imma emphasize the position of your _elbow_ , too. Imma stress that several times for ya’ll. We don’ want our elbow way back here. If we have it back here, this ain’ gonna work right.” She pulls her elbow until it’s behind her back. 

“We want it to stay just right here.” This time, she pulls it back to where it’s just at her side.

“So lemme show you how it’s done twice, and then we’ll get into it!” 

And less than ten minutes later, the ballroom is full of people spinning and spinning and spinning. In-between spinning, people trip, laugh, bump, apologize, stumble, apologize again, and laugh some more. 

“Okay, okay!” James gasps between stomach-clenching laughter. “‘M dizzy as hell. Your turn, now, Tony!” 

Anthony’s glasses and flat cap are askew. He, too, is overtaken by laughter and gasps, “Y’sure? Not just one more time?” 

“Hell, no! I almost just bumped into that poor lady over there! I need more control an’ I need a break from dizziness!”

“A’right, a’right. I got this. Here I go…” 

Anthony and James get back into the handshake hold. James walks backwards with his right foot while Anthony walks does the same, but with his left foot. They rock, then step…and then lean in while _watching their elbows_. Next, they break the contact between their hands and, from there, Anthony spins twice-

“Woah, woah, hey!” James cautions. “You only gotta spin once, not two times!” 

Anthony stops. “Oh, shit…you’re right.” 

“Yeah, whatchu spinnin’ twice for? The room ain’t gone anywhere.” 

“No, but you know what _has_ ‘gone anywhere’? All the feeling in my damn feet, Mr. I Wanna Step Too Close Into The Lean.” 

James puts his hand over his heart as though he’s just been mortally wounded. “Oh, okay. That was my ‘one’ now, huh? That was the revenge.” 

“No, that was only part of it. The rest of it is coming later on. Trust me.” 

“A’ight. I got ya. Let’s try again and remember you spin just once.” 

“Got it!” 

They try again and keep having a blast in doing their best to get it right. Ms. Luanne herself and her assistants are moving among everyone, observing, giving pointers, giving praise, and encouraging everyone to keep going, that they’re all doing great. 

James and Anthony feel a great deal of nervousness when Ms. Luanne comes to watch them herself. They do the spin once, with James spinning and another time with Anthony spinning. 

Ms. Luanne smiles the whole sun, moon and stars on them and commends, “Oh, marvelous! You both got it down wonderfully! Keep going and have fun!” 

“Thanks, we will, Ms. Luanne!” They say at the same time. 

Ms. Luanne nods warmly and moves onto the next couple. 

And when it’s time to learn the Lindy Hop, there’s twice as much spinning, tripping, laughing, bumping, apologizing, stumbling, apologizing again, and laughing some more. 

-

About an hour later, James and Anthony are (still) laughing and (still) stumbling their way out of the Hennessy Ballroom. They hold each other’s hand tightly for some semblance of balance. 

“Oh my _god_ , we almost collided with that other couple three fucking times”, Anthony remarks while adjusting his glasses. 

“I know, right?! It was so goddamn embarrassing. Can’t believe we weren’t the only ones nearly hitting other people, though”, James agrees. “I’m definitely coming back next Tuesday. How ‘bout you?”

“Well, of course I am! I love dancing with you.” 

“Yeah, I love dancing with you, too.” 

“That’s great…very, very great.” 

“Yep.” 

Both men stand there, smiling at each other just outside of the revolving doors. It’s a while before they realize that they’re still holding hands. They look down at where they’re joined, where the fingers are comfortably interlocked and the palms are warmly touching. And it’s supposed to be awkward-grossly impolite, even. 

But neither one feels even the slightest urgency to let go. 

With his gaze still on their joined hands, Anthony is the first to speak. His voice is soft and quiet. “Say, Rhodey? That was…a pretty intense dance lesson. Lots of moving around. You mind if I take you out? I mean, w-we’re already _out_ , but you know. Like, you wanna get some…?” He trails off as timidity snuffs the voice out of his throat. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” 

Anthony’s eyes snap up to James’. Those diaspores of his are glittering warm reception at him. “Really? You really wanna…?” 

James nods, a smile on his face. “Mmhmm. You’re talkin’ about lunch, right, Tony? Let’s go eat.” 

“T-together?” 

“Together.” 

“At the same table?” 

“The exact same.” 

“Like…across from each other or beside each other?” 

“Either one, just so long as we’re both comfortable.” 

“Y-you mean it?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Uh _huh_.” 

There’s another pause in which Anthony just stares in disbelief at James and James just smiles back with warm patience at the other man. Their hands are still joined. 

“You are a total snickerdoodle”, Anthony finally whispers. 

James’ eyes go wide and he bursts into snickers at that. Voice incredulous, he gasps, “D-did you just call me a fuckin’ _snickerdoodle_ just for agreeing to go out to lunch with you? What the hell?!” 

Anthony winces. “Ah, I _told you_ that the nicknames just come out like that! I’ll probably call you ‘bumblebee’ later on today!” 

“Well, you know what? Let’s go ahead and head on out to collar a hot so you can finish up that repertoire of nicknames, huh?” 

Anthony knows of very, very few restaurants in Harlem and can only guess what “collar a hot” means, and so he says, “Yeah, sure. Your choice of place, bumblebee.” 

James grins. 

-

For the people of Harlem and anyone else who happens to pass through, there’s just a lil somethin’-somethin’ about Sally Hagen’s Diner. 

Part of it may just be in the way that the windows catch the sunlight of Harlem. The windows catch that sunlight and splash those light-golden waves all over the chairs. On the bar. The menus. The tables. The counter. The tile floor. The people. Just light-golden over just about every place there is for it to be had. Outside, the chalkboard menu announces the weekly specials in sprawling block letters. The cheery red-and-white striped awning over the double doors compliments the rusty bricks and adds shade for the patrons that dine at the outside tables. 

A dark-red orange is the color for the chairs, booths and barstools, while a light-beige is it for the tables and counter. From the ceiling, the ceiling fan lights are soft, while the fans rotate lazily, circulating just enough air for comfort. 

The jukebox in the corner shines with life even while it’s a bit broken from years of faithful service to the patrons and Hagen family alike. All of its lights still work and one can see that Mr. Hagen gives it a thorough polishing every now and then. Just a little less than a handful of its buttons are broken; some are stuck, some play the wrong song and then some just don’t work no matter how many times you slam the machine. A catchy jazz number bounces out of the jukebox now. 

And of course there’s the _food_ from Sally Hagen’s Diner. Even if a customer comes right at the crack of dawn, when they open, the nose is still pleasantly assaulted. It’s the scents of coffee and toast and fried chicken and fried okras and mac n’ cheese and tea and so, so much more. There’s been many a person that’s come into the diner, full like they’d just gotten back from a holiday dinner, and one scent was all it took to renew their appetite. 

Oh yes, there’s just a lil somethin’-somethin’ there.

Mrs. Sally Hagen herself is a dark-skinned, rotund woman in her mid-forties with a smile that glows about one-thousand watts and a hand that weaves magic in her kitchen alongside her husband. She runs her diner with her husband, two sons and daughter. 

The diner is crowded as usual when James and Anthony seat themselves at the only available booth. 

Sally Hagen’s daughter, Clare, gestures to them from serving another table and says, “I’ll be right with you guys!” 

James and Anthony wave back and assure her to take her time. 

While James sits back against the booth, Anthony does his best not to look around like a little kid seeing an amusement park for the first time. He’s one of about a handful of White people out of the diner’s sea of beautiful people and unlike James. His ears immediately catch the snazzy jazz number from the jukebox and he can’t help his foot tapping to its beat. There’s just a twinge of nervousness mixed with a stronger curiosity at the thought of all the food they have here that’s relatively rare in existence in much of the Upper West Side. 

James’ voice breaks through his marveling. “Hey, d’you think you’ll wanna get a smoothie? Do you like smoothies?” 

James picks up the teeny flyer stand advertising an assortment of smoothies in a variety of flavors, each only fifteen cents. 

Anthony smiles and takes the flyer from James. His eyes zero in on the strawberry one, but he says, “Ahh…you know, I _do_ like smoothies, but I’m afraid that I just, you know…have a tendency to drink them loudly.” 

He can hear the wince in James’ voice without even looking up. “Wait. You talkin’ that you just keep gushing on and on ‘bout how much you love the smoothie? Or you…slurp?” 

Pretending to give a sad sigh, Anthony looks up with a false look of resignation on his face. “I…sluuuuuurrr _p_. I slurp loudly. But don’t worry! See, I stopped being self-conscious about it a good, long while ago. So nowadays, I just go ahead and drink however the hell I want in public. I don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.” 

James’ eyebrows damn near meet his hairline and his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. “Uhh…that’s great that, uhh…you’re not shy anymore about, umm…how you drink, Tony. It is. But, uhh…maybe nobody else ‘round here wants to hear that today…” He leans forward to slowly slip the flyer out of the other man’s hand. 

He pretends to be offended. “What’re you saying? It doesn’t sound _that_ bad and everyone forgets all about it later on anyway!” 

James shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes dart to the window and back, as though someone outside will have an answer for him. “Well, yeah. Okay. People may just…forget. But, you know, maybe…look, I’m just sayin’ you might wanna leave that at home-”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re saying that I just gotta have what I want only in my own house?” 

“No, Tony. I’m just sayin’ that don’t nobody else want to have to deal with…slurping.” 

“But I don’t really think _slurping_ is a big deal. I mean, I just-”

James face goes deadpanned. “…Wait. You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? You just got me back, didn’t you?” 

Anthony’s lips twist in his effort not to burst out laughing. “Depends. Did it work, Rhodey?” 

“…You know what, Tony? This ain’t even the end of our second time out and I already can’t stand you. That’s it.” James puts the flyer in his lap. “Imma tell Clare not to let you have any smoothies for as long as you come here.” 

Just as Anthony is about to pout at such injustice, Clare comes over to their table with menus and napkin-wrapped silverware. “Hey, there boys! I thank you for your patience. What can I start you off with?” 

James winks at Anthony and puts the little flyer back on the table. He turns to Clare. “Clare, may I start with a key lime smoothie? And my friend here will have a…?” 

Anthony smiles up at Clare and requests, “Can I start with a strawberry smoothie?” 

Clare nods, jotting the orders down on her pad. “Two smoothies, comin’ right up!” 

She leaves and then it’s just the two of them perusing their menus. 

“So what do you normally get?” Anthony asks casually. 

“My chicken and waffles. And you know what else? I keep telling myself every time I come here that I’ll get something different…” 

“And you don’t”, Anthony guesses correctly. 

“Exactly”, James laughs. “I don’t!” 

“Well, you know there’s nothing wrong with that, Rhodey. I mean, chicken and waffles sounds just about good right now.” Anthony tactfully doesn’t mention how he’s never had the dish in all his life. Besides, he’s far, far too excited to try it for the first time...all while eating with James. 

“Oh, yeah. For sure.” 

Clare comes back with their smoothies. She then takes their orders of two chicken and waffle plates. 

It’s after a short, comfortable silence between them when James speaks again. 

“Hey, may I…may I hold your hands?” 

“W-huh?” 

“Your…hands. May I hold your hands for a moment? I guess I just now…noticed something that I can’t believe I didn’t before.” 

Anthony’s heart pounds at the thought of what James could’ve possibly missed, at what James could possibly see in his hands. But he finds that he can’t say ‘no’ to him, can’t possibly refuse him anything. 

And besides, he already misses the feeling of James’ hands. 

“Sure.” He extends them to the other man, palms up. 

James smiles shyly and takes Anthony’s left hand in his. “Thanks.” 

Anthony lets his right hand rest back on the table and keeps his left hand in James’ pliant. 

James turns his hand over and over in his own. His fingers move over his hand with an impossibly warm butterfly’s touch. In-between those butterfly touches, James presses on his palm here, rubs over a vein on the back of his hand there. He rubs his thumb slowly over Anthony’s, and then he’s inspecting his ring finger. 

And Anthony is just on the brink of being breathless from the sheer gentleness in James’ touch. 

James’ lips purse in concentration as he goes about his examination. But it’s his eyes that bring Anthony’s breath just that much closer to being short and his heart going pitter-patter in his chest. James’ eyes are soft in their contemplation and curiosity. Those diaspores catch the afternoon sunlight from the windows and so they appear to gently gleam. 

Soon, James lays Anthony’s left hand on the table and picks up his right hand to examine next. At this point, it’s a struggle for Anthony to keep his hand still, to keep from grasping James’ hand back and asking him if it’ll be alright if he doesn’t let go for a long, long while. 

There’s just a tiny, tiny part of his brain that cautions him to be worried about what the other man could possibly be seeing in his hands. What was there to be found that enraptured his attention? What in Anthony’s hands could there possibly be to observe, much less so thoroughly like this? 

Anthony takes a deep breath and shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His breath is getting even shorter and his heart is just about to go straight into fluttering out of his ribcage. It’s harder and harder for him to resist holding James’ hand back. A brief thought that he should take a sip of his smoothie crosses his mind, but he doesn’t want to take even a modicum of his attention off of the other man, doesn’t want to miss any part-

“Your hands are strange”, James finally, quietly remarks. 

Anthony’s heart pounds even harder. “How so, honey bear?” 

Pleasure flares in James’ eyes at the new nickname. He explains, “I guess I…pegged you wrong. I thought you might have something like a desk job in the banks over on Sugar Hill. But your hands are changing my mind…” 

“Oh, they are?” 

“Yep.” 

Anthony’s stomach drops far, far past his feet at the same time he swears his heart stops. He really shouldn’t, but…he can’t help but wonder. 

He can’t help but marvel at someone that’s proving so difficult to hide from. 

He can’t help but ask softly, “Then what do you think I do?” 

James looks up from their joined hands. “You’re gon’ think I’m crazy.” 

“No, not at all! I could never think you’re crazy. Just humor me.” 

With another shy smile, James replies, “Well, you got a lot of scars and calluses. A lot of them aren’t…different from the ones I have. A lot of them are even in the same place that mine are. It’s like our hands are…the same. Exactly the same. So I was thinking…you work with cars? Maybe you’re a mechanic like me?” 

James’ words send his stopped heart plummeting past his feet and straight into the ground. It’s a miracle that his breathing doesn’t just stop altogether. 

For all of the good that Anthony’s flat cap and glasses and clothes-from-the-back-of-the-closet are doing to hide his real identity, he may as well just be bare before the other man. Hell, he still hasn’t pulled his hand back from James. 

James Rhodes is very difficult to hide from. Very, very difficult. 

And Anthony Stark can’t quite find it in himself to be alarmed, to get the instinct to get up and flee. 

To be seen, even when he cannot be seen, doesn’t feel so bad when it’s with James. 

No, it doesn’t feel so bad at all. 

Outwardly, Anthony stays calm. He gives James a quarter of the truth. “Well, I actually _do_ like cars. A lot. I enjoy working on my own car as a hobby. But, your initial impression is right: I just do a boring desk job on the West side.” 

At that, James perks up. “Oh! Where’d you pick up a love of cars?” 

“Ahh, I’d just always had a love of them. I love…well…” Anthony trails off, at a loss because there’s far too many things he loves about mechanics and engineering. 

James’ eyes shine as he offers, “The tinkering and mechanics? How there’s just always something new to find out and learn. But that shit’s also repetitive and it calms you when you can’t sleep otherwise? But then, there are times when you end up learning a brand new thing again just by accidentally switching a wire or some shit?” 

Anthony’s eyes shine right back. “When it’s repetitive, you just might get to sleep that night. And when you learn something new, you can’t stop talking about it.” 

The most ridiculous grin spreads across James’ face. “And when it’s both, it’s the greatest thing ever. Like, you be glowing for the next week so bad that you be throwing that onto the people around you.” 

A matching ridiculous grin graces Anthony’s face. “And the sound? _‘Vroom-vroom’_ , goes the motor?” 

“ _‘Click-click’_ , goes the engine?” 

“ _‘Drip-drip’_ goes the gas?” 

“ _‘Honk-honk’_ , goes the horn?” 

“And the smell? D’you like the smell, too? I know a lot of people think it’s weird and gross, but do you enjoy it?” Anthony asks, nearly bouncing with excitement. 

“Hell yeah! You get used to it and then you learn to love it! I mean, I work in a mechanic’s shop-I got gasoline right up my nose all the damn time”, James exclaims. 

“Right?! And there’s just…something _fucking magical_ about the scent of motor oil and grease, isn’t it? I mean, you don’t find that kind of magic in many other places! I know you’re supposed to take a shower afterwards, but you also end up washing all of that magic off. Am I right?!” 

“That’s the damn truth, friend. That is just the damn truth.”

Both men pause and realize the position of their bodies. In addition to their hands still being joined, they’re leaning over the table and very, very close to each other. Their eyes are fucking comets and shooting stars and their smiles threaten to split their faces in fucking half. 

There’s a part of them that feels they should at least pretend to be self-conscious. But they aren’t. Neither one of them is uncomfortable and neither one of them really wants to move. 

But Clare comes to deliver their order, and so they pull away from each other. A knowing smile graces her face as she sets down their plates, along with extra napkins. And in-between them, she places a tiny pitcher of syrup and a tiny dish of butter. 

“Alright, boys. Will that be all for you for now?” Clare asks. 

“Yeah, thanks Clare. I’m good.” 

“Yes, ma’am. This looks delicious, by the way.” 

Clare beams and leaves them to help one of her brothers clean up a table. 

Anthony struggles not to stare down at his plate. If ever he’s seen such a perfectly round, fluffy, golden-brown waffle in his life, he can’t remember. The two fried chicken breasts nestled together atop the waffle are an even darker golden-brown. Even to Anthony’s untrained eyes, they look like they have just the right combination of crispy coating on the outside, but meat that’s so, so tender on the inside. The chicken and waffle are tastefully garnished with two bright, robust strawberries that sport a light coating of sugar on their flesh. 

And then there’s the scent that wafts into his nose and, well…the word “enticing” doesn’t quite cover it. 

James’ voice breaks through his reverie. “Tony? You okay?”

“Yeah, Rhodey. Guess I just…uhh…” 

“Haven’t had it in a while?” James suggests. 

“Yep. That’s it.” 

James smiles and pushes the syrup and butter towards Anthony. “Well then, here.” 

“Oh, no, no!” Anthony pushes them to James’ side of the table. “You first. Please.” 

James smiles again and indulges himself in the syrup and butter. Anthony watches carefully out of the corner of his eye as James spreads a generous amount of butter over the waffle. He watches even closer when James takes the pitcher of syrup and drizzles the sweet, sticky mess over both the waffle and the chicken, while missing the strawberries. When James pushes the syrup and butter back towards him, he still watches and notes how James uses his knife and fork on the chicken, since it’s covered in syrup. 

Anthony quietly copies the other man, takes a bite of his chicken and-

 _Dies._

His lids flutter closed as his eyes cross. He puts a hand over his mouth, as though someone will come and snatch the food right out of it. When in the hell in his life did he ever taste something just so…so wholesome and _rich_? Anthony finds himself chewing as slowly as he can, just rolling the chicken ‘round and ‘round over his tongue, like there just won’t be more where that came from. 

James gives a low, sympathetic chuckle as he watches him. “It’s _really_ been a long time, hasn’t it?” He pops a piece of chicken in his mouth with nary any problems. 

In response, Anthony can only roll his eyes up to the ceiling and moan. 

He gives himself a bit of a break by digging into the strawberries. And then he dies all over again when he samples the waffle. James just looks at him with sympathetic amusement over his key lime smoothie. Anthony copies him, indulging in his strawberry smoothie. He moans again as he finds that the drink somewhat calms his assaulted taste buds. 

“You a’ight? You gonna live?” James asks. 

Anthony nods. “I do think so.” 

They eat in contented silence for a while (with Anthony having to eat much slower than James) before Anthony breaks it. 

“So what else do you like? Besides cars? Anything else?” Anthony asks. 

James takes a sip of smoothie and his face takes on coyness. “Hmmm…what else do I love besides cars. I dunno, Tony. See, this thing I love? I love it even more than cars. So I dunno if you’ve earned this one just yet.” 

Anthony nearly chokes on a bite of waffle. “Now, wait a minute. You love it even more than _cars_?” 

James nods solemnly while spearing himself another piece of chicken. “Yep. You heard that right: even more than cars.” 

“Well, haven’t I already earned it?” He implores. “I mean, I danced with you for most of the afternoon and I only stepped on your feet about…ten times. And now I’m buying you lunch and I didn’t choke to death on this delicious food. C’mon, doesn’t that count as anything?” 

“Oh, sure it does. But it only counts as, like, part of it. The rest comes later”, James teases. 

“Aww, c’mon. Humor me, please? I just gotta know this one thing that you love more than cars!” 

James contemplates Anthony over his smoothie. Well, what the hell…

With a teasingly-exasperated sigh, he sets down his smoothie. He quietly reveals, “Airplanes. I love airplanes.” 

Anthony’s face brightens again. But he keeps his voice soft and low. “Airplanes, huh?” 

“Yeah. See, I’ve always wanted…to just…fly one. Pilot one. And not even for war, you know? My dad and my grandfather both died piloting planes in the Great War. I miss ‘em something awful, along with my mom.”

James pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath after that revelation. Anthony instinctively reaches across the table and grasps James’ hand. He rubs his thumb warmly over the back of his knuckles. James gives a watery smile in thanks and grasps his hand back, taking strength from the warm comfort. 

“I know I sure as hell didn’t earn those”, Anthony quietly admits. “But if you want to talk about…those…I want you to know that I’m absolutely all ears. Whenever you need, however you need.” 

That watery smile still graces James’ face. He looks down at their joined hands…their hands that are the same. “No, Tony, you didn’t earn those. That shit just popped out; I guess that shit just…pops out when it comes to you. I may just be relaxing ‘round you a lil too much, huh?” 

Anthony squeezes his hand and softly, sincerely assures, “You don’t have to feel like you’re relaxing too much around me. You can tell me anything you like, anything at all. I can keep a secret better than just about anyone. And, trust me, I can tell you stories, and so I’m aware that I’m not in a position to judge really anyone.” 

He squeezes James’ hand again. “So you’re safe with me. I promise.” 

James searches Tony’s face and it’s all he can do to keep holding his hand and not fall over and out of the booth from the sheer genuineness there. He can only widen that watery smile and concentrate on the feeling of Anthony’s hand around his. He has to take another deep breath before he can talk again. 

“Then…it must be safe for me to tell you that I’m not really ready to talk about my family just yet. I mean, I remember my mom, but I don’t remember much of my dad and granddad-they died overseas when I was barely two. I just…still a lil raw in the heart.” 

Anthony immediately nods. “I understand. I do. You take your time with shit like that no matter how long you may take.” 

“Thanks.” James glances out the window for a moment. “I’m lucky I had Monica and Charles. Been friends with them since before I can remember. I believe there’s a reason for that, you know? I believe…how do they say it? ‘You lose love once, but it’s reborn and you gain it back’ soon enough?” 

“Yeah”, Anthony agrees. “I’ve heard of that, too.” 

James clears his throat. “Anyway, yeah, I love airplanes. I guess I just…I just always wanted to take to the sky. Just to see what it feels like. I bet it feels fucking wonderful.” 

_I have a plane for you. I have a lot of planes for you. I have books on planes for you, too. Hell, I can custom-build a plane for you if you want…just for you…_ “Oh, yeah. I bet you, it really, really does.”

James nods and releases Anthony’s hand to finish his lunch. “Thanks. I mean, my apartment is just littered with books and posters on planes and shit. I got a few precious collectible models, too.” 

Anthony does his best not to let on how much he misses the contact, how much his hand is tingling to grab James’ hand again. He covers it up by reaching for his fork and following suit. “When did you first start loving them?” 

James’ eyes widen at the question and he gives a low chuckle. “Oh, I can’t…shit, I can’t remember. I guess the best way to say it is that I can’t really remember a time when I _didn’t_ love planes, when I didn’t wonder what the sky felt like.” 

“You know, I like planes too. But I feel that way more strongly about cars”, Anthony replies. “I mean, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love cars.” 

“Yeah…” James nods slowly and grins. 

They eat in contented silence for a while. James breaks it again by asking. “Say…I’m sorry, but may I hold your hands again?” 

Anthony does his best not to soar straight out of his seat. He drops his knife and fork and extends his hands to James again. “You sure can.” 

James takes his right hand first this time. He destroys Anthony all over again as he runs a finger over a callous on Anthony’s thumb. “It’s just…kinda amazing, doncha think? Our hands really _are_ the same. They’re exactly one and the same. Ain’ that somethin’?” 

He can’t help but smile as he looks at an incredibly similar callous on James’ thumb. Softly, he agrees, “It sure is something, Rhodey. It sure is…” 

They go back to their lunches. All too soon, they’re done eating and Clare comes to take their empty plates and cups away. Not long after, she comes back with their check and Anthony pays, while also leaving her a generous tip. 

“Well”, James sighs with a grin. “That was great. Guess we gotta…call it a day and get ready for the next day, huh? Gotta go back to work.” 

“Yeah.” Anthony nods. 

“But, hey, when we see each other again? You wanna go bailin’ outside of dance class on Tuesday? Like, maybe a movie the next time ‘round?” James asks. 

Anthony’s eyes spark behind his glasses. “I’d _love_ to go to a movie with you! Maybe we should, uhh…” 

“Exchange numbers?” James suggests. 

“ _Yes_ ”, Anthony manages to squeak out after a brief, stunned silence. 

James is struggling to hold in a burst of laughter again as he flags down Clare for them. He asks if they can each have a slip of paper and borrow a pen. Clare obliges them, that knowing smile brightening on her face. Both men scribble their numbers on the little slips of paper. 

He goes to hand his to Anthony, but Anthony says, “Wait, wait, lemme do something important…” 

He then proceeds to rub both sides of the paper on his neck, thoroughly scenting it in apricot. 

The other man’s eyes and mouth blow wide open. James leans weakly against the booth and slowly shakes his head. “Oh my god…oh my _god_. You are a mess. Imma start to feel like a broken record, just sayin’ that you’re a mess over and over again. But goddammit, it’s true…” 

Anthony pretends to look scandalized as he finishes scenting the paper. “What? Don’t you want a scent to remember me by? Isn’t this a polite courtesy I’m doing here?” 

“Tony. We’re _exchanging numbers_. With the intent to call each other. I think that right there is plen’y enough for us to remember each other by.” 

“Yeah, well, consider this an insurance policy for memories, ‘kay? ‘Kay.” Anthony proffers the newly-scented piece of paper to James. 

James chuckles as they trade off . They leave Sally Hagen’s diner in even higher spirits at the prospect of seeing each other even sooner than next Tuesday. 

And more frequently. 

They stand outside the diner, discussing their schedules and brainstorming a time to call each other and a time to meet for the movies…and possibly dinner afterwards. On Tuesdays, James only has to come into work by the early evening and he otherwise works Monday through Friday with rarely a weekend that he doesn’t spend off unless he’s covering someone else’s shift. He’s guaranteed to be done by six o’clock each evening. Meanwhile, Anthony’s schedule is…all over the place…but he gives James part of the truth again: his “desk job” involves meetings with his bosses (his board, his shareholders), the occasional long, unpredictable hours and an emergency here and there. 

So James suggests that Anthony be the one to call him when he has a good time for a movie outside of dance lessons. Anthony beams at that and fervently promises to call James as soon as he can clear some part of his schedule that’s not just a Tuesday afternoon. James beams back at him and, still smiling, part ways. 

-

“Damn, James, you been just a’hummin’ a tune all a’this mornin’, you know that?” 

“Who? Who _me_? Hummin’ a tune all mornin’? Naw…” 

“Uh huh. You sho’ are!” 

“Well, if I am, what’s that tune soundin’ like?” 

“Like a…fuckin’ waltz or somethin’.” 

A pause. 

“…You got somethin’ to tell us, James? Somethin’ special?” Chayo Santos asks. 

“Naw, I know what it be!” Evelyn Ryles plucks her cigarette out from between her lips and gestures at James with it. “He prolly done been to that new Hennessy down the way!” 

Lang Jinghua smirks. “Uh oh. Fuck is this shit? James actually stepped outta his lil comfort zones and…went dancing?” 

Henry Stephen cuts in. He waves a hand for his employees to tone it down a bit. “Now, now. Don’t ya’ll be actin’ like ya’ll don’t be hummin’ things stuck in your heads, either. Pretty sure James just heard that waltz and…well, here we are, ‘kay?” 

Henry’s Mechanic Shop around nine o’clock in the morning is as it often is: with all four employees and their boss chatting while working on cars as jazz, blues, and the occasional news report wafts through the shop from the radio.

The radio is an old, static-prone thing that requires a fist banging it when it suddenly turns off every now and then. But whether the radio is working or not, there’s always talk flying around the place. Now, the radio is playing a rolling, languid blues number and it combined with the voices of the five people working creates a unique kind of music all on its own. 

Just as it always does, just as James loves it. 

It helps that he loves his coworkers and boss, too. 

Chayo Santos, a third-generation Argentine man, hunches over a car’s engine, wrench in hand. It’s a rare, rare day when he doesn’t talk endlessly about his three daughters. The rest of the shop already knows his girls’ favorite homemade foods (especially _locro_ stew and _chinchulines_ ) by their father, their troubles and successes in school, the music they blast through the house, the new hairstyles they try every other month and, well…just about everything else. 

Evelyn Ryles, Black like James and Henry, changes a car’s oil. She’s often seen in raggedly-beloved blue overalls, cigarette hanging precariously out her mouth, and a colorful bandana (today it’s a polka dot red-and-black) covering her hair. She’s straight out of the leftover factories from the Great War and, like many of her Colored female peers, was promptly kicked out with barely a severance check. She’s happily worked for Henry ever since. 

Lang Jinghua, a second-generation Chinese woman, repairs a broken taillight. She followed her best friend, Evelyn, out of those same factories. She, too, is quite often seen in raggedly-beloved blue overalls and with a cigarette hanging out her mouth. But instead of wearing a bandana over her black hair, she pulls it into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Out of all of them, she cusses the most. 

And their boss, Henry Stephen, changes a tire. He’s a man in his mid-forties with hair and a heavy mustache that’s peppered with white and silver. Just about every time his mouth moves, his mustache brushes over his lips. It’s led his wife to affectionately nickname him “Brush Face”. His hands are far more calloused than any of them and his dark brown eyes are full of the kind of compassion and patience that’s honed by years of practice with five children at home. 

James feels nice and home here, in the shop. 

He pipes up, “Well, thanks, boss. But actually, Evelyn’s right: I did visit that new Hennessy down the way. Just had my second dance lesson yesterday, in fact.”

Evelyn snaps her fingers and gives a burst of laughter. “Hah! I knew it!” 

James grins as he finishes rearranging wires under the car’s hood. “Yeah. You can have a pretty good time bailin’ if you got the money to go.”

“See?” Eveyln says. “Now who ‘round here gon’ gimme ten bucks?” 

Chayo freezes over the engine he’s working on and stares at Eveyln. “…Ten bucks for _what_?” 

“Why, for bein’ right! I mean, who woulda guessed that it’d be James of all people to go dancing like that? S’only fair!” 

Lang blows out a long plume of smoke and winks. “Aww, give a lady some goddamn mercy, team. She wants the shit ‘cause she’s right…and she can use ten fuckin’ dollars once every year.” 

Evelyn scrunches up her nose at Lang, to which Lang blows her a raspberry. 

“Well”, Henry says. “I gotta admit: it sure is a surprise that you done been to that Hennessy, James. A welcome surprise, though. Real welcome. How much does it cost and what’d all you get to do there? Thinkin’ bout sendin’ my kids there if they like.”

Chayo agrees, “Yeah, I think my girls just might like that, too. ‘Specially my youngest.” 

James spends the next eight minutes or so regaling all of them about his time at the Hennessy. He tells them of learning about the closed position, spinning, the Lindy Hop and so much more. But he leaves out most of the details of Tony as his dance partner; he has to catch himself from sporting a shy smile at the thought of just how much fun he’s had with the other man. 

And the fact that he’s kept his apricot-scented number carefully folded in his pocket all day long and otherwise can barely wait for his phone to ring. 

Henry nods approvingly as James finishes his accounts. “Well, I’m mighty glad that you’re expanding your wings, kiddo. That’s good an’ healthy for you.” 

All of his coworkers agree and James smiles his thanks. Lang asks Evelyn to go with her to the Hennessy and Evelyn pronounces that the only reason she’ll go is for the snacks at the end. No one is surprised. 

About twenty minutes later James finishes with the car he was working on. He’s almost always gotten the cars that even Henry can’t quite figure out, leading Henry to affectionately call James a "genius kid, just a genius kid if I ever saw one". James wipes his hands on a rag, drives the car back out to the small parking lot, and then goes to the waiting room where the customers are. 

“Mrs. Danes?” He calls out. 

Mrs. Sheila Danes looks up from her newspaper and uncrosses her legs. She’s a curvy, dainty, dark-skinned Black woman with a smile that’s always charmingly lopsided. Her dark-green cloche hat with a single purple band around it perfectly matches her dress and shoes. With a _click-clickity-clack_ of her heels, she meets James in the middle of the room. 

James relays the good news. “I was able to figure out what the problem was with your brakes. Looks like there was a mix up of wires that were messin’ with them.” He puts his hands on his hips and grins. “Didn’t look _too_ deliberate, so I’d say it’s alright.” 

Mrs. Danes gasps and demurely places her hand to her neck. “What’re you sayin’, Mr. Rhodes? That I’m tryna to cozy up to you by sabotaging my family’s only car?” 

“Oh, not at all, miss. I’m crackin’, but I’m fackin’. You can’t quite blame a fella for being cautious-I’ve had ladies and gents alike mess up their cars on purpose just to come an’ see me. Flattering, but I don’ recommend it.” 

Mrs. Danes grins and her eyes give a cursory, appreciative look over James’ face and body. “Mmm. Indeed, I can tell that, Mr. Rhodes. Must be a mighty inconvenience for you, especially since you’re a youngin and so you got plenty a’years ahead of you for such a thing to keep happening, huh?” 

James grins right back and responds, “I sure do, Mrs. Danes. I’m just a helpless fella ‘round here.” 

Mrs. Danes laughs, tips him generously, and goes out to her car. 

Soon the day comes to an end and they all start closing up shop. While James is grabbing his lunch bag, he hears Evelyn’s voice cheerfully call out, “ _‘Ey_ , Ms. Monica! ‘Ey, girl!” 

There’s a gentle wave of cocoa butter coupled with Madame C.J Walker, and when James turns around, there’s one of his best friends standing in the shop’s doorway. Against the blaze of the early evening sun, Monica’s deep, satiny sepia skin, hair, and eyes are beautifully luminescent. From the way her curls are tight and shimmering with fresh hairspray, James can tell that she spent most of the day at her favorite hair salon. Monica’s dress, pumps, and teeny headband in her hair are a soothing combination of dark royal blue and a lighter cerulean. The mascara and eyeliner on her eyes and the bright red lipstick on her lips are fresh. She gives him a wink as she goes to embrace Evelyn and Lang. 

“Hey, ya’ll! It’s good to see you!” 

“So whatcha doin’ here, Ms. Lynne?” Henry asks with a dazed smile on his face. Monica Lynne does that to people. 

Monica flips her curls a bit. “Ah, I just got done with my hair appointment, and so I thought I’d come down to walk home with my James!” 

Evelyn grins and warmly squeezes her arm. “Well, ain’t that nice? Also, I heard someone is gon’ audition for a singing spot at that brand new Silver Curtain! We all know you’re gonna get it!” 

Lang adds, “Yeah, Evelyn and I don’t really do that clubbing and dancing shit, but we’d probably come just to see you!” 

“Sure would!” Evelyn agrees. 

Monica grins and says, “I thank ya’ll so much! I’m hoping I get a singing spot, too!” 

There’s more friendly talk in which everyone else lets Monica know that James really must’ve gotten that Hennessy bug because he was humming waltzing tunes all morning. And then everyone is headed their own ways home. Monica and James head for their apartments and Monica informs him that Charles is still at his Spanish class. 

“So you really been just a’hummin’ all day, James? Hummin’ that waltz?” Monica laughs. 

James can’t quite find it in him to feel sheepish. “Sure have. Oh, and I bought these while on my lunch break.” He opens his lunch bag and shows her three peaches and three apples. 

“Aw, thanks! I been cravin’ one of these for a while now.” Monica takes a peach and bites into its soft flesh with relish while James takes an apple. 

Monica has always loved peaches. It brings back memories of when they were children and both James and Charles would tease her that every time she ate a peach, she was just eating herself. Even years later, the joke has never failed to brighten her face. 

“Yeah, see, we knew you’d enjoy those dancing lessons”, she says around a bite of peach. “And it’s good to see that you’ve been enjoying your actual dance partner, too, James.” 

James smiles…and remembers what he hasn’t taken out of his pocket all day. He digs into his pocket with his free hand. “Oh, yeah! Speaking of that…” 

Monica watches him curiously “Hmm? Whatchu got in your pocket, baby? Whatchu diggin’ for?” 

James hands her the little paper with Tony’s phone number on it. Monica slowly comes to a stop as her eyes round like dinner plates upon seeing the paper’s contents and James stops alongside her. She faintly smells the apricots and lifts the paper to her nose to confirm the scent. If anything, the scent makes her eyes go even wider. 

Turning perhaps her most shit-eating grin on him yet, she clutches Tony’s number to her chest and leans back from James. “ _Aaaahhhhhh_ , look a’here, look a’here, look a’ _here_ , now! Is my James cookin’ with gas? It lookin’ like my James is cookin’ with gas!” 

He gives a nervous, but pleased, chuckle. “C’mon, now, Moni. It ain’t that big a deal.” 

“Oh, it sure is, baby! It sure is!” Monica looks up to the sky, her eyes reverent. “My James! My baby! My James R. Rhodes done got himself a number! He got your number too, baby?” 

“Well…yeah. We exchanged our numbers right after lunch. It’s just so we can call each other and see if we can set up a time to hang out outside of dance lessons.” 

Her eyes shine at this new bit of information. “Oh, ‘after lunch’ you say? So lemme get this straight: he gave you his number and you gave him your number after ya’ll collared a hot?! It was _lunch_? James done got himself a number right on a second date! And of course he got a number! Why, my James here is only one of the most gorgeous beaus in all of Harlem-I know people still be fucking up their own cars just to come an’ take a peek at you!” 

While James splutters, Monica delicately touches the end of one of her curls. “Ohh, learnin’ all of this on the same day I got my hair made, too. And just wait ‘till we tell Charles! _Oh_ , today is a good day!” 

It’s a moment before James can actually articulate again. “W-what? ‘Second date’? Monica, wait a minute, now! You got it all wrong!” 

“Oh, no! Course not, baby!” Monica holds Tony’s number up close to James’ face. “You just prolly been carrying this around in your pocket all day long, huh?” 

James rolls his eyes and takes back the piece of paper, stuffing it back into his pocket. They start walking again while eating their fruit. “No, Moni, really. It’s not like that. It wasn’t a date. We’re not dating-we’re just casually bailing. Tony and I just like each other…a lot. We were just hungry after a long while of dance lessons. We were doin’ the spinning and the Lindy Hop and _you’d_ be hungry, too, if you were doin’ all of that.” 

Monica pouts a bit, but relents, “Aww, really? Well, alright. These ain’t dates. I hear you. And I assume that when Tony calls you again and you two next meet, that ain’t gonna be a date, either?” 

James nods. “Right. It’s just two new friends bailing with each other, getting a feel of each other.” 

Monica’s smile fades as her lips curl in disgust at a thought. At the same time, her brow creases in worry as she turns concerned eyes on her best friend. “Wait, Tony is a Mister Charlie from the West, ain’t he? He didn’t want to exchange numbers with you just to get some jelly from you, did he?” 

“Oh, no”, he assures her with a soft smile. “Not at all. I don’t think Tony’s that kind of person.” 

She breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” 

“Yeah.” James looks shyly down at the pavement beneath their moving feet for a moment before he speaks up again. “I don’t think Tony’s like that at all. He’s actually really kind, hilarious, nervous in that adorable way, generous and just...someone that I find myself relaxing around pretty easily.” 

Monica smiles softly at James, a smile of true, vicarious pleasure. She loops her arm through his and squeezes his bicep. “‘M happy for you, James. Real happy that it turned out like this. Although, I’m thinkin’…you’re not bringing Tony home to meet Charles and me just yet, huh? I mean, ya’ll ain’t even in a dating phase.” 

“No, I don’t think we’re there, just yet. I don’t even know if we’re ever gonna be there.” James’ smile widens. “But I know I like where we two are at the moment right now just fine. I know that for sure.” 

“Then I like that just fine, too, James. Just fine”, Monica replies. 

They continue on their way home, enjoying their peach and apple all the way. 

-

 _The same._

_Our hands really are the same…_

Anthony sits in his workshop, tinkering with the engine of his Delage D6.

Like the office at the Stark Industries building, the workshop is still very much his father’s in so many ways. Anthony hasn’t felt much urge to change it-he still ambivalently sorts through his earlier memories of tinkering and building in this place alongside his father. Every last luxury car of Howard Stark’s are still there-his Chrysler Model B-70, his Renault 6 CV NN, and his Nash Advanced Six Coupe, among others. On one worktable is an unfinished, modified engine that, more than half the time, perplexes Anthony every time he tries to work on it. Another worktable holds blueprints for a new missile design dubbed “Jericho”. On that same worktable is his father’s personal, modified M1917 revolver, locked and loaded and barely touched by Anthony. 

He can’t get his time with James yesterday out of his head for anything. He doesn’t want to, anyway. 

In-between his tinkering, he pauses to look at his hands…his hands that are just like James’. Just like Rhodey’s. Foolishly, he’s tried to replicate those warm, thorough butterfly touches on his hands, but of course it’s not the same as James’ touch. 

There’s still some part of him that thinks he should be worried and that he should be thinking of a back-up plan because James Rhodes is just too challenging to hide from. But the larger part of him is still far, far too awed at being so plainly _seen_ even when he doesn’t necessarily want to be. And so he keeps pausing to wonder at the true stories James found in his hands. 

And James’ phone number. All morning, Anthony has kept James’ number opened and on his least-cluttered worktable. He keeps glancing at it with just as much wonder in his eyes as when he’s looking at his hands. Its visage reminds him that yesterday really did happen, that James really does want to go to the movies with him because James _likes_ him. 

Yes, surely James likes him. 

“Anthony?” Jarvis’ voice sounds from the double doors. “Virginia is finally awake and is in the middle of her second cup of coffee.” 

Anthony’s face brightens and he jumps up to wash his hands and pocket James’ number. “Great! I’ll be right up!” 

Jarvis nods and informs him before leaving, “Virginia can be found in the west wing’s first floor study, sir. And, as requested, I have not answered the phones with ‘Stark Residence’.” 

“Thanks, Jarv!” 

Anthony double-checks that the little slip of paper is firmly in his pocket before he goes up the stairs. He takes the stairs two at a time and races to the study. Both nervousness and excitement at what he has to ask Virginia for make his heart pound. 

He finds her sitting on the couch. She’s in the dark purple robe he bought her last Christmas, sipping her coffee (three teaspoons of sugar and just a splash or two of milk), and examining documents. Her red hair is in a disheveled bun at the nape of her neck. She looks up at Anthony’s entrance and smiles sleepily. “Morning, Anthony.” 

“Morning, V. How’d you sleep?”

“Great, thanks. And you?” 

“Wonderful! Listen, you got a minute? I need to ask you a favor.” 

Virginia’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? What do you need?”

Anthony sits down close beside her and takes her hands in his. He comes right out with it. “I need you to please give me some weekends, especially Fridays and Saturdays. Umm…and do you think you can do it for this Friday and/or Saturday, too, pretty please?” 

She stops completely and just _stares_ at him. Her green eyes search his face and, slowly, so, so slowly, wonder alights on her own face. 

“Did something happen in Harlem with James?”

Anthony huffs and pleads, “V, listen, it’s just that I-”

“ _What_ happened in Harlem with James?” 

“Look, Rhodey and I just want to-”

Virginia leans in close to him, a full-blown smirk on her face. “Oh, it’s ‘Rhodey’? Is that your nickname for James? ‘Rhodey’? You already gave him a nickname?” 

They stare off at each other for a while and then Virginia breaks it, her voice excited. “Oh, c’mon! Spill it! You know the only other people I’m going to tell are Rumiko and Jarvis and they’re not going to tell anyone anything! So, please?” 

Anthony does a half-hearted pout, but reaches into his pocket to take out James’ number. “Alright, fine. But I’m telling you I think James likes me a whole lot, but this is _just_ so we can meet up again.” 

When Virginia takes James’ number into her hands and reads it, she laughs in triumph. “Well, isn’t this something! I _knew_ you’d make a casual friend! And of course he likes you, Anthony-people don’t usually give out their phone numbers to people they don’t like.” 

Anthony’s smile is sheepish, but pleased. “Yeah. I…I gave him my number, too. So that’s why I told Jarvis not to answer it in his usual way, ‘cause, you know…” 

A strange shadow briefly passes over Virgina’s face and she clutches the little paper a bit closer to her. “I guess.” Her face brightens again. “So you want me to clear up your schedule for James? Can I assume that it’ll be best for James to have afternoons and evenings with you?” 

With a sigh of gratitude, Anthony pulls her into a tight, tight hug. “You’re the best, V.” 

Though she hugs him back, she cautions, “You _do_ realize that this is going to be moving a _lot_ of things around, right? And possibly dealing with some rightfully-irritated people?” 

“I know it’s a hassle. What can I do to make this up to you?” He pulls away from her. 

“Hmm…” She thinks for a moment and hands him back James’ number. “Pizza for Rumi and me. Extra cheese with calzone and Coke. And…a chocolate soufflé for dessert, too.” 

Anthony leans over the couch’s arm to get to the end table’s drawer, where he pulls out a pad and pen and writes it all down. “Got it!” 

Virginia grins and nods. She picks up her agenda off the coffee table, flips to the week’s packed weekend. “Your Saturday is way, way too full, so I can’t give it to you. But I think I can do a little magic with your Friday and Sunday and I’ll see about future weeks from there. How’s that?”

The spark in Anthony’s eyes gives her tells her all she needs to know. She picks up the phone and dials the first of many numbers she’ll have to dial. 

“Good morning, Mr. Laud? Yes, this is Virginia Potts, the personal assistant of Mr. Anthony Stark of Stark Industries. I am contacting you to inform you that Mr. Stark will be requiring a change of appointment time this Friday…” 

As Virginia does her magic on the phone, Anthony pulls her into another hug. 

-

James’ phone rings on Thursday. 

Biting his lip, he gets up from reading his book and answers it. 

“Hello?” 

“Heya, James?” 

Tony’s voice over the line sends a thousand and one tendrils of warmth and excitement through him. “Yeah, hey, Tony! Still on for a movie sometime?” 

“We sure are! I got Friday and Sunday free for whatever you want to do!” 

James is so happy he could shout. He clutches the phone tightly and bounces in place like a little kid. “Awesome! How ‘bout…Friday we do the movie and maybe some dinner? And then for Sunday, we’ll just figure it out?” 

“You know, that sounds fantastic! So I’ll meet you in front of the movie theater at…seven o’clock? Will that be alright?” 

“Uh huh! Seven o’clock, tomorrow. I’ll see you then, Tony. I can’t wait.” 

“I can’t wait, either.” 

After they hang up, James runs to the couch and flops on it. He kicks his arms and legs in the air, a silly, sloppy grin damn near splitting his face the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-6L2i5e9A8) the instructional video I used to write about the American spinning from swing dance, if you like! 
> 
> [Also here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GTrNLauLrs) is a video that shows the Lindy Hop. It's not instructional, but just looking at it being executed appears to be oh-so much fun! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, dears! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy, happy New Year everyone! May 2016 be better, brighter and happier for all of you and yours. 
> 
> -throws rainbow confetti in the air-

James hurries home to wash up for his movie night with Tony after work on Friday. 

So great is his excitement that he all but bounces around his apartment as he gets ready. He whistles himself a merry lil tune while scrubbing his hair in the shower. Later, it’s an effort to keep from bouncing his shoulders to the merry tune in his head as he carefully trims his stubble. 

He’s just about to pull on a fresh shirt when he turns and glances at the condensed mirror. He stops and a bit of somberness arises in his eyes as he takes in his foggy, distorted reflection. Chewing on his lip, he wipes the mirror clean with his hand. He turns around just enough so that he can see his Mark. 

His Mark, his iron mask, that is still grey, indicating that he is Unbonded. 

With reverent fingers, he explores his Mark. The tiny lines that make up the image of his Mark are soft, gentle grey indents in his skin. James vaguely knows that he wasn’t born Marked, but he remembers that during his childhood, he used to crane his neck nearly all the time just to get a look at it, just to touch it. He used to feel so excited and nervous at the idea of who his Soulmate could possibly be; he would talk his mother’s ear off about his ideas for who they were and what games they’d play with each other once they found each other. And he was ridiculously excited when, still during his childhood, Monica and Charles found each other and became the best of friends before they became romantic and sexual in their adolescence. 

Today he’s older and he’s since become much, much more patient. Now he’s content to simply wait and see who they are, where they’ll come from and what they’ll mean to each other. James can be good at patience when he wants to be. 

But now, as he looks at his Mark in the mirror, he wonders…he wonders if Tony-

No. 

And even if Tony _was_ , no one forgot about _Kyle-Hemsen vs. Milledge_. 

No one. 

There’s nothing more to it than that. 

Still, the fantasy of a world where it could be drifts through James’ mind. A quiet, wistful smile graces his face as he finishes getting dressed and grabs his wallet. 

He still wears that smile when he heads out for the movie theater. 

-

East Harlem’s Uptown Movie Theater is just a lil bit smaller and shabbier than most of the other dozens of other theaters all ‘round New York. 

But that most certainly doesn’t mean that it’s lacking as far as being bouncin’ and hoppin’. Its popularity began its growth during the Crash and it only continued to climb when the Apollo Theater went down into disrepair with no immediate hopes for its revival to this day. Pleasure and entertainment are vital to survival for impoverished Colored folk just as much as it is for anyone else. And so the Uptown Movie Theater draws in more and more business. 

The small theater is a comely, dark-beige brick building. Right above the front double doors and ticket windows, its name- _Uptown_ -is adorned twice in huge, white block letters on two perpendicular signs that, together, form a right angle. Both signs are cheerfully lit up in bright golden and white tones. Small, decorative squiggly lights that change colors every other evening frame the signs. The ticket windows, too, are brightly lit with white lightbulbs all around their glasses. 

In- between the _Uptown_ signs, and the double doors and ticket windows is emblazoned the current most popular show currently showing: Oscar Micheaux’s _The Exile_. On either side of the ticket windows are posters advertising the other movies and cartoons currently showing. The lines are long, loud and full of Harlem’s people looking for a good show on a Friday night. There are especially several children with their families in the lines; a great many of them plead with their parents to buy tickets for _Flip the Frog_ , _Looney Tunes_ or _Toby the Pup_. 

And so James finds himself swept up in the hustle and bustle outside of Uptown on a Friday night at seven o’clock in the evening. A thrill goes through him at the tantalizing scent of fresh, buttery popcorn made every hour, on the hour. James has always greatly enjoyed movies and movie theaters themselves; while he patiently waits outside the lines for Tony to show up, he finds that love rekindled anew.

Once inside the lobby, he knows the concession stand will offer an array of delicious candy: Jujubes; Jujyfruits; Baby Ruths; and Milk Duds, among others. James always loves to splurge and buy popcorn, a juice drink, and candy. 

“Heya, honey bear!” 

With a wide smile, James turns around at the sound of that cheery voice. And there Tony is, wearing a plain black flat cap and his usual glasses. Like James, he wears a plain shirt, trousers and shoes. He gazes warmly at James from beneath his lashes and his thumbs are hooked in his pockets. That perfectly tart pine wafts from him and James feels yet another thrill go through his body at the sorely-missed scent. 

“Evenin’, Tones!” 

Anthony gives a dramatic gasp, his eyes and mouth opened wide. “D-did I just get an impromptu nickname myself?! The hell kinda good fortune is this tonight?” 

James winks. “Why, it’s only the kinda good fortune that comes when you’re out on a movie night with a certain James Rhodes!” 

With a chortle, Anthony tips his flat cap and winks back. “Well, I must say I’m much obliged, Mr. James Rhodes. Much obliged indeed.” 

James beams and asks, “So, what movie strikes your fancy tonight?” 

“Oh, whichever one you want!” 

“…You know, somehow I had a feelin’ that was what you were gonna say”, James groans. 

“But I mean it: we can see whatever you want and I’ll be fine with it.” 

“And lemme also guess that you’ll be fine with paying for this and for dinner, right? Just like you paid for lunch last time?” 

“Well…yeah”, Anthony admits. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

James stares. 

Anthony rubs the back of his neck in awkwardness. He takes a long, long moment to figure out what he just said that was so wrong. His eyes sweep over the crowd and then land back on James.

“Uhh…well, maybe it’s not necessarily a ‘bad thing’ to you, but…umm…you don’t do that around here. You’re not used to that and so that wouldn’t make you comfortable. Like, pay for a whole day or evening yourself, huh? Not usually done.” 

James slowly shakes his head. 

“Because, you know, most of the people here are from the East. And that…doesn’t have a whole lot of money like the West, like S-Sugar Hill.” 

James slowly shakes his head again. 

“Right. So, everyone here…pools their resources together and so that…uhh…usually means that no one pays for a full date themselves. Because it’s better if…everyone shares.” 

James slowly nods his head. 

Anthony nods resolutely. “So, Rhodey, this means we should…”

“Compromise. Split the date”, James supplies. 

“Yeah! I’ll get the dinner and you’ll get the show? Is that better?” 

James’ face brightens again. “There ya go.” He turns to toward the movie theater. “So how ‘bout we compromise on the shows themselves? How ‘bout…I’ll narrow the choices down to top three, and you pick one out of those top three?” 

“Deal!” 

They end up choosing _Flip the Frog_. 

As they get in line, James casually takes Anthony’s hand. 

Anthony forces himself to fucking breathe and breathe _quietly_. 

But goddamn, he’s missed the feeling of James’ hand. He’s missed it so much that he held his own hand several times again, unsuccessfully trying to replicate that soft, gentle warmth. 

He tries to focus on his breathing, but the contact is putting him right in the same mess that he was in when James first held and observed his hands in that diner. 

“Hey, Rhodey?” He asks quietly. 

James turns towards him, smiling. “Yeah, Tones?” 

“I…I really like you holding my hand. I like it a lot”, he confesses. 

James eyes round for a moment and then his face breaks into a brand new smile. He squeezes Anthony’s hand. “Y’know, I think that works out jus’ fine ‘cause I like you holding my hand, too.” 

They stand there in the line smiling stupidly at each other, just like they do during their dance lessons. 

Soon they’re finally sitting in the crowded theater, watching commercials and previews until the cartoon comes on. They share popcorn, Jujubes, water, and a Baby Ruth bar between them. 

And they share the armrest…where they link hands during the whole cartoon. 

-

“…So I enjoy bailin’ with them. But my two _best_ friends are Moni and Charles; I’ve known them ever since we were kids”, James continues. 

The two of them now slowly stroll towards Glanden Park. After the cartoon, they both agreed that they were about a fourth of the ways full from all the popcorn, candy and water, and so they decided to have a small dinner of hotdogs. They eat with one hand and while holding each other’s with the free one, swinging their joined hands all the way. 

Anthony tilts his head curiously after swallowing a bite of hotdog. “‘Moni’? That’s really unique and pretty.” 

“Well, yeah. It’s actually ‘Monica’, but if you ever get nice an’ close to her, she’ll prolly let you call her ‘Moni’ for short”, James clarifies, his face brightening at the thought of her. 

Anthony’s eyes shine. “Well, ‘Monica’ is even prettier!” 

“It is”, James agrees around a bite of hotdog. “And Monica herself is gorgeous. And she’s, y’know, she’s got this _laugh_. It’s that kinda laugh that you jus’ gotta add to, you just gotta join in, you know? Infectious.” 

“Just can’t resist it, huh?” 

“ _Yes._ And if you really tickle her, Moni can laugh for forever and a damn day. It’s great.” 

“Does she…have a lot to laugh about nowadays?” 

“Well…kinda.” James winces. “She’s actually been jus’ on this side of a mess of anxiety. See, she’s got an audition coming up…wow, this coming Monday actually. Damn, time flies.” 

“Aww, yeah? I’m so sorry that she’s anxious”, Anthony condoles. “What is she auditioning for? Where is it?” 

“It’s that new Silver Curtain down the way that’s gonna open up in June. See, Moni’s always loved to sing; she’s amazing at it. And she’s always wanted to be a jazz singer. But it’s competitive, as you can imagine, and so she’s stressin’ about it big time.” 

“Oh, but I bet she’ll do _great_! I bet she actually has nothing at all to worry about!” Anthony says. 

“That’s exactly what Charles and I try to tell her! But, y’know, when you’re worried, you don’t always think logically.” 

“Yeah, that’s true…and don’t I know it myself.” Anthony agrees. “What else about Monica? What else does she like?” 

“Hmm…” James looks up in contemplation at the near-starry New York sky. “She does _fashion_. Like, dresses, cloche hats, necklaces, makeup, you name it, she knows how to coordinate it. And she does it so goddamn…lightly, slightly and politely, too. It’s like she just goes to sleep, wakes up and she knows exactly what she feels like wearing and she just does it. We ain’ even got money for gettin’ draped down in any righteous rags just yet, but she can put a whole lotta people to shame.” 

Anthony vaguely guesses what “lightly, slightly and politely” and “righteous rags” mean. “Ahhh, so she sounds good _and_ looks good all while having the best laugh ever. And she does it for herself, for fun, huh?” 

“Yep. That’s the basics of Moni for now.” James takes another bite of his hotdog. 

Anthony mirrors James and then asks, “And what about Charles?” 

James’ face lights up all over again. “Oh, Charles is Monica’s fella. He’s…a lot quieter than either of us. He’s got that quiet charm thing goin’ on; he’s handsome, but you just might miss him ‘cause he’s fine sitting at the back table, reading a book while Moni is pretty comfy with attention. He can be in his own world like that. Smart as _hell_ , too.” 

“Wow”, Anthony exclaims. “It almost sounds like they’re perfect opposites for each other, but I bet they fit together in more complicated ways than that. I-I mean, people in general are complicated…” 

They’ve finally reached Glanden Park. 

Glanden Park at nearly nine o’clock at night is perhaps one of the most serene places to be in Harlem besides one’s own home. The Harlem lights here are just a bit dimmer than elsewhere, and so the stars over New York are just a tad less invisible. 

There are no children here at this time of night, and so James and Anthony indulge themselves by forgoing the benches and perching on the rusty swings, hands still joined, as they finish their dinner. They use their feet to slowly rock back and forth. 

James nods as he settles into his seat. “Oh, definitely. Yeah, sometimes it’s Moni that wants to just curl up in a windowsill with a cup of tea and Charles wants to go out bailin’ with me an’ a few others. They’re that kinda couple that balances each other out pretty easily.” 

“And does Charles like to sing, too? But, y’know, maybe just by himself in the shower?” Anthony asks before biting into his hotdog again. 

“Actually, it’s Moni that’s notorious as shit for singing loud an’ proud in the shower”, James chuckles. “But naw, Charles can’t carry a tune any more than I can. He’s actually going to start as a teacher’s assistant in the Tenderloin this coming fall. And his dream is to go on and be a full teacher.” 

Eyes shining all over again, Anthony replies, “That’s wonderful! What grade is he teaching?” 

“Third grade. Science and arithmetic. Despite popular opinion, he’s actually pretty good with kids.” James winks. 

Anthony can’t stop smiling. “I’m so happy for your friends, Rhodey. They deserve all of this. And I’m so happy that you have them at all, and they you.” 

James’ face is in much the same predicament. “Thanks; I know I’m a damn lucky guy. What about your friends?” 

“Oh!” He perks up. “I have Rumiko and Virginia. I haven’t been friends with them since we were kids, but we’ve been friends for a few years anyway and I’m pretty close to them.” 

“Aww, that’s alright. Don’ nobody gotta be friends forever and a day for their relationships to be valid. It’s good to have friends at all.” 

“Oh yeah, for sure. Rumiko is a really big socialite. She’s…a party guest for a living. She’ll flit around all over the place, just looking for new people to meet, new foods to try and just about everything else.” Anthony’s smile becomes softer. “She treats every day as an adventure and she’s that kind of person that’ll randomly just start talking to you and, five minutes later, you’re pretty sure you must’ve met her from somewhere else before because you feel so at home with her.” 

James grins as he finishes off his hotdog. “Hey, that sounds a whole lot like Moni!” 

Anthony nods in agreement as he, too, polishes off the last of his hotdog. “It does, doesn’t it?! Rumi is also a fashion person like Monica, too. When it’s a slow day, she can spend hours just playing with her makeup and trying on her shoes and she always looks like a fresh, early morning.” 

“Sounds like she and Moni would really have a whole lot to talk about, then.” James thinks for a moment. “I wonder if they’re the same size…then maybe they’d share clothes?” 

Anthony beams at the idea, at the image in his head. “Rumi most certainly wouldn’t mind! In fact, I think she’d insist that Monica borrow some of her clothes. Although…” He adopts a playfully serious face. “…Rumi will _eat._ ”

“Oh. Eat as in…she could put away five hotdogs easy?” 

“Nope. Ten. In one night. And she still has room for dessert.” 

James’ eyes round. “ _Ten?_ With some space leftover for dessert, too? Hot damn.” 

“Yep. Rumiko is a goddamned superhuman like that. I’ll never hope to match her.” 

“Well, is Virginia like that, too?” James chuckles. 

“Hmm…Virginia? V is…” Anthony looks around the park, thinking for a moment. “Y’know, it’s kind of funny that…you could almost say that Virginia is to Rumiko as Charles is to Monica. It’s only an…almost comparison, but it’s still fucking uncanny.” 

James lifts his brows in curiosity. “Oh, yeah? So Virginia is quieter and more into solitude than Rumiko?” 

“Well… _kind_ of on the solitude. As far as the quieter, I would say she’s…the better way would be ‘milder’, actually. Maybe even softer. Like, Rumiko has that humor that’s dorky and will make you laugh ‘cause you hadn’t even thought of shit that way; Virginia has that humor where she could say something sarcastic and you might not even realize it until the next day and _then_ you’re laughing really hard. And if you remember to say it back to her, then you’ll have an inside joke between you two just right then.” 

“Ahh, I gotcha”, James says. “So they balance each other out, too. I bet they be bailin’ with each other all the time, then.” 

“Uh huh! Sometimes, when I haven’t seen them in a day or so, they’ll have to catch me up on all the new practical and inside jokes they made with each other.” 

“…Why do I get the feeling that they gang up on you every now an’ then? That they like making _you_ the source of their joke?” 

Anthony snorts. He remembers not too long ago when Rumiko took his tie, declaring it her new headband, and Virginia promised to help her raid his dresser for all his ties from then on. “…Because it happens. Frequently. Often. A lot. Too much.” 

James laughs behind his hand. “Aww, you can’t blame ‘em, Tones. I mean, it sounds _hilarious._ I wanna see it someday.” 

“You’re a fuckin’ traitor, you know that?” Anthony pretends to pout. “I get more than enough shit from them as it is without you wanting in on it. I mean, goddamn, I can’t even catch a break ‘round you, can I?” 

“Well, y’know.” James shrugs. “They’re the ladies and we’re the guys-we’re ‘sposed to be there for them to mess with. That’s the way it is.” 

“Yeah, don’t I know it? Such is our sad lot, cupcake. Such is our sad lot.” 

They share a laugh. 

“And is Virginia a professional party guest like Rumiko? Do they go to a lot of parties together?” 

_They actually go to a lot of parties with_ me _because I can barely stand them otherwise._ “No, V’s job is…accounting.” 

James blinks. “…Yeah, our friends _are_ uncanny far as comparisons go. That’s a…really different lane than a partygoer and socialite. Although I’m sure you and V still go with Rumi to the parties, huh?” 

“Yep!” Anthony nods. “And Virginia is really, really good at her job, too. She finds all the little mistakes and nuances that other people don’t. It saves, uh, her boss a whole lot of trouble. But she’s too modest about it.” 

“Aww, I betchu tell her she’s awesome at her job all the time, just like she deserves, huh?” 

“I do try!” 

James smiles and then asks, “Is Virginia…Black like Monica or Asian like Rumiko?” 

Anthony smiles back and responds, “Oh, actually, Rumiko is specifically Japanese and Virginia is White like me. V is a redhead and she has these constellations of freckles across her face. They’re kinda…like a peppered constellation, I guess.” 

“Oh, a ‘peppered constellation’?” James laughs softly. 

“Yep. And Rumi’s got this tan complexion that looks like the best sunset you’ve ever seen.” 

“I’ll bet.” James squeezes his hand. “I’m glad, too, that you have such good friends, Tones. You deserve them, too.” 

Anthony’s smile becomes soft, sheepish. He looks down at his shoes and speaks to them. “Yeah, thanks. I’m lucky to have them, too. It’s just...I’m not like you, Rhodey. They’re my two best friends and they’re my _only_ two friends.” 

He’d love to say that he could count Jarvis as his friend, but…Jarvis is the one that takes care of him and all of the Stark Estate. Jarvis has been there since before Anthony was born and he’s always cared deeply about him, but…surely it’s just his job. 

No, not even Jarvis counts. 

It’s quiet for a while between them; the only sounds are their breathing and the soft creaking of the rusted swings. 

James soon squeezes his hand again and quietly declares, “No they’re not. You have three.” 

Anthony’s eyes snap up to the other man’s face. He’s treated to a bright, cheesy grin and exaggeratedly-wide eyes. 

“Hi, there!” James says. “James Rhodes, nice to meet you! You may have given me the nickname ‘Rhodey’ the second time we met and I gave you the nickname ‘Tones’ just this very night. I think you prolly heard a’me, but it looks like you _might’ve_ already forgotten.” 

Anthony gives a surprised snicker. 

James continues, “Why, just this night alone I done went out to see a cartoon with you, ate hotdogs with you, and now I’m swingin’ on a swing with you in a park at nine o’clock at night and on a _starry night_ no less and-”

“ _Stop!_ ” Anthony pleads in between stomach-clenching laughter. He’s nearly doubled over in his seat and he uses his free hand to keep his glasses and flat cap from falling off. Tears are close to springing to his eyes from his laughter. 

“But I ain’t done yet!” James protests. “Now as I was sayin’! On top of all that? You know what else?” 

“W-what else?” Anthony gasps, tears now officially in his eyes. 

“I’ve been holding your _fucking_ hand all this night.” James holds up the joined evidence in the middle of their bodies. “And I’ve been loving it just as much, if not more than, you have. But apparently you only have two friends, not three. Goddamn, what’s a guy gotta do to get some recognition ‘round here?” 

“R-Rhodey. Didn’…mean it…like _that. Fuck…_ ”, the other man wheezes. 

“Uh huh. Sure you didn’.” 

“Really! Y-you’re fuckin’…with me…now!” 

“Well, yeah. But that’s only ‘cause you’re fuckin’ with me! Talkin’ shit ‘bout how you only got two friends and not three an’ I’m sitting here right next to you. Fuck you think this is, Tones?” 

Anthony struggles to catch his breath. “‘M sorry…fuck…so sorry…” 

James smiles and simply holds his hand while he comes down from his laughing fit. 

Another while passes before he can speak again. His eyes are full of wonder when they look at James. “You…did that on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make me laugh?” 

It’s James’ turn to be sheepish, but his smile is full of that customary warm patience and compassion for the other man. “Well, yeah. You just…I dunno, you just looked so sad an’ ashamed at not having that many friends and that…ain’ anything to be ashamed about. At all.” 

“Now, I dunno _why_ you don’t have a whole lot of friends. You’re only just a lil amazing, y’know?” He continues. “It sounds like a fuckin’ crime that I can’t comprehend.” 

James gently pulls his hand away from his. He lifts his hand up to Anthony’s face and, for a heart-stopping moment, he thinks that James is going to strip him of his glasses and flat cap. 

Strip him of his disguise once and for all. 

Anthony doesn’t know if he can move to stop him. 

A part of him doesn’t know if he even _wants_ to. 

But all James does is tenderly smooth his fingers over his cheekbone, and then moves to just as tenderly cup the side of his face. 

His voice is softer than the blanket of stars above them and those diaspores put that blanket to shame. “But I won’t ask after that, ‘kay? May not be something you wanna talk about, something I ain’t earned yet. Just know that as soon as that first dance lesson ended, you gained a whopping three friends. You dig? _Three._ And, hopefully someday, you’ll have a grand total of five.” 

James’ thumb is warm and gentle as it caresses the arch of his cheekbone. “I know it might not be easy, but…try not to feel sad and embarrassed about it, alright? Jus’ promise me you’ll try because you’re a great person and I, for one, like you very, very much.” 

Anthony can only stare, mesmerized, into those glittering diaspores and slowly place his hand over James’. He works his mouth once, twice, thrice, but he can’t find the words to articulate…what James’ declaration of friendship means to him. He imagines that he makes some sounds resembling coherency, but they still can’t convey a message.

But as usual, the other man senses that and he moves his hand from the side of his face to gently place his fingers on Anthony’s lips. 

Anthony falls silent. 

James’ smile remains full of warm patience. “It’s alrigh’. You don’t have to say anything right now. In fact, you look overwhelmed. So just take your time and don’ say anything right now, hear me?” 

He nods and James’ fingers fall away, leaving Anthony’s entire face tingling and singing and dancing with warmth. He’d want to chase after that warmth, but James’ hand goes right back to holding his. 

They sit together in companionable silence for a long, long moment after that. Their heads tilt back to take in the night sky above them. If one looks closely with lights that are dim enough, there really _are_ quite a few stars shining and twinkling above Harlem with their own benevolent light. 

“Hey, Rhodey?” Anthony asks softly. He keeps his voice low, as though speaking any louder will disturb the tranquility around and between them. 

Just as softly, James replies, “Hmm?” 

“I’m…I’m your friend, too. You know that, right?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“You really do know? You mean it?” 

“Uh huh. I sure do.” 

“That’s…great.” 

“Yep.” 

“And by the way, honey bear, you always overwhelm me anyway.” 

“Oh, I do? I don’t mean to. ‘M sorry about that.” 

“No, it’s not a bad thing. I mean you overwhelm me in a good way.” 

“Aww, thanks, Tones. You overwhelm me, too, believe it or not.” 

“Oh, I’ll believe it.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

There’s another beat of companionable silence between them. James is the one to break it this time. 

“Y’know, we still gotta figure out what to do on Sunday. I mean, we got Saturday to figure it out, too, but you’re working that day, right?” He asks. 

Anthony’s heart soars at the idea of another day not too far away to spend with James. “Oh yeah! Hmm…let’s figure it out now. What d’you want to do on Sunday? We’ll have all day.” 

“How ‘bout…” James thinks for a second, a dreamy smile on his face. “A movie this time? And then go have fun dancing at the Hennessy? Y’know they officially hold lessons on Tuesday, and people like you and I need those lessons big time. But you can still go there and dance for fun jus’ about any other day, too.” 

“I’d like that!” Anthony says. “We’ll see who can step on the other’s toes the most this time around!” 

“And, as usual, it’ll be a damn close tie!” 

“It sure will!” 

They yawn at the same time, prompting Anthony to offer, “Hey, Rhodey? It’s getting kinda late. You mind if I walk you home?” 

He’s rewarded with a surprised grin and a hand squeeze. James replies, “Oh! Oh, yeah. Shit, I almost forgot the time. I’ve been at work all day and I know you gotta go to work yourself tomorrow. So sure.” 

Anthony grins right back. “Then, if you’ll do me the honor of leading the way?” 

James winks. “It’d be my pleasure, Tones.” 

They keep their hands joined as they leave Glanden Park and he leads him to his apartment. They’re not in the slightest hurry, even as most of the other people around them excitedly rush in the opposite direction, to partake in the early ten o’clock festivities of Harlem’s nightlife. Just about any other night, James would love to join them; but for now it’s just fine that tonight is an early night and he’s holding hands with Tony while Tony walks him home. 

Oh yes, it’s just fine that tonight is cut a bit shorter than most. 

Soon they’re in the deeper parts of East Harlem and walking up onto the uneven stoop of James’ apartment. 

Anthony shyly asks around a yawn, “D’you mind if I see you all the way to your door?” 

James’ heart pounds at the idea of the other man being just that much closer to his home and he jerks his head for Anthony to follow him up the stairs. 

They stop in front of his door on the third floor, facing each other with sleepy smiles on their faces. 

“Welp.” James pauses to yawn. “Here’s the humble abode. Uhh…maybe you’ll come inside another time? When we’re both not halfway to collaring a nod on our feet?” 

Anthony files “collaring a nod” away as yet another expression whose meaning he can only guess. But more than that, he feels a rush go through his blood at the idea of walking inside James’ apartment, being with James in his home, hanging out with James, lounging and cuddling with James… 

Struggling to keep the excitement out of his voice, he replies, “Aww, yeah, honeybee. I, uhh…I’ll come in on Sunday, huh? I can pick you up from here? Is that okay?” 

James’ sleepy diaspores burst fireworks at him. “That’d be _great_. And you know, you could prolly meet Monica and Charles at the same time, too.” 

“Yeah! I’d like that a lot.” 

“Awesome! So…I’ll see you Sunday…afternoon, Tones?” 

“Most definitely, Rhodey. And I’ll see if I can call you just to chat tomorrow, ‘kay? Sometime ‘round the evening.” 

“‘Kay, great. I’ll look out for the phone. Well…g’night, Tones.” 

“G’night, Rhodey. You sleep well.” 

“Yeah, you too. And have a good day at work.” 

“Oh, if I get to call you at all during the day, then I will.” 

“…You really are a _mess_ , y’know that?” 

-

On Saturday, there is an accident in the labs of one of Stark Industries’ research departments. 

The accident is nowhere near catastrophic enough as to make the papers. Just about a handful of SI employees suffer relatively mild injuries ranging from one degree burns to small cuts from broken beaker glasses and the rest were in a bit of a shock. When they check into the hospital, they and their families worry not a whit about SI covering the costs of their care. Of the ones that give the incident report, they were thankfully fully conscious and coherent. 

It’s not at all an accident that should in any way involve the CEO. 

But Anthony pulls himself out of a meeting and personally reads and re-reads every last one of the incident reports with the head of that particular research department and with Virginia. He personally goes over what could’ve been done to prevent the incident in the first place and, thus, continue to innovate new ways to make the work environment as safe as possible for his employees. When it’s found that there’s really nothing more to be done as far as safety ( _“Anthony, accidents are going to happen regardless. You can’t get rid of them completely”_ , Virginia cautioned), he still packs that floor’s blueprints into his briefcase to study at home just in case _something_ could be done. 

That evening, he personally visits and sits with each and every employee that was hospitalized. The hospital staff’s round eyes, opened mouths and whispering-behind-hands is little price to pay for being able to see that his employees and their families are alright. Anthony brings flowers for each employee and he finds himself being embraced by grandparents and having his lap full of children and signing autographs as he sits in the hospital rooms. 

On top of all of this, at least three meetings that he cancelled to tend to his employees had to be rescheduled for later on in the coming week. He looked inside Virginia’s agenda and groaned as he saw that he’s now booked up all the way until Friday, with even his Tuesday morning and afternoon gone. 

Anthony is beyond exhausted by half-past eight o’clock that night. He realizes that, though most everything has died down and his employees are fine, there’s no way he’ll be able to be with James at a moment like this. 

God-fucking-dammit all to hell. 

It’s about an hour later when he finally gets the courage to call James with the bad news. 

“…I _promise_ that I ain’ mad, Tones. I’ll miss you, but I’m really, really not about to blow my damn top over this. I understand when shit just piles up unexpectedly”, James assures him over the phone that night for the…fifth time. 

Anthony sits back in one of his armchairs and rubs severely at the bridge of his nose. “But honey bear, are you sure? ‘Cause I really wanted to see you tomorrow and even wish Monica good luck-”

“And I told you-I’ll pass the message along to her. I already told her and Charles a lil about you and she’ll appreciate it very, very much, alright? She’ll understand, too.” 

“But I wanted to bring her flowers, Rhodey! _Flowers!_ ” 

James hopelessly throws the hand up that’s not cradling the phone to his ear. He slouches against his couch’s cushions and resists the urge to cover his face with a pillow. “So what’s wrong with flowers sometime later on this week? Flowers ain’t going anywhere and neither is Monica.” 

Anthony huffs in annoyance. “Because her audition is on fucking _Monday_ and what the hell do flowers mean as far as helping to comfort her if she’s already auditioned?!” 

“…Tony. If you give her the flowers afterwards, then the context changes to you congratulating her on getting the spot, doncha think? ‘Cause she sure as hell is gonna get the spot and so it all works out. It is _fine_. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I promise you it’s _fucking fine._ ” 

“But what if that just looks like, y’know, I didn’t care about meeting her at all until she got the spot? What if that just looks like I’m…shallow? I need to make a good impression to her and Charles.” 

There’s a long, long pause on the other end of the line. Anthony can’t even hear James’ breathing. He’s about to ask if James is still there when he speaks again, his voice quiet and contemplative. 

“…You just really, really don’t like disappointing people, do you? Or at least what _you_ perceive to be as disappointing. Even when it’s because of something you can’t help, it’s still just completely unacceptable to you, ain’t it?” 

Over the phone. 

Over the goddamned, motherfucking _phone_ , and James Rhodes still strips him down and reads him perfectly. 

“I don’t like disappointing the people that I care about”, Anthony quietly adjusts. 

“But you haven’t even met Moni and Charles, yet”, James says, a bit of bewilderment in his voice. 

“So? They’re your best friends and so I care about them. They’re important to you, and so they’re important to me”, Anthony declares simply. “Besides, you probably feel the same way about Rumiko and Virginia.” 

“Yeah, that’s true”, James admits. “But, Tony…it really _is_ okay. Honestly. I’ll let you know if something’s ever not okay with me, alright? Ain’t got no reason to be deceptive like that, especially ‘round you.” 

Anthony sighs long and loud, sending the sound of crinkling over the line. He rubs tiredly at the bridge of his nose again. He asserts, “…Alright, fine. Okay. But I’m telling you: even if I have to miss our Tuesday at the Hennessy, I _am_ going to see you on Friday. That’s a promise that I’m not breaking, you understand me?” 

James nods. “I dig it. I dig you. You just keep doing your best and I am going to pass on your message to Moni and say ‘hi’ to Charles for you, ‘kay?” 

“Thank you, Rhodey.” 

“Yeah, and you’ll do the same for me in regards to Virginia and Rumiko?” 

“I sure will!” 

“Then I’ll see you hopefully on Tuesday and _definitely_ on Friday, yeah?” 

“Yeah. And…James?” 

“Mmhmm?” 

“You’re still a total snickerdoodle.” 

“And you’re still a mess.” 

They share a laugh before hanging up. 

-

There is no brown paper bag test for Monica to fail at the Silver Curtain. 

No, there is no brown paper bag test for Monica to worry about whatsoever. It’s why she even bothered to sign up for auditions here instead of the dozens of other places like the Cotton Club. 

She can go into the Silver Curtain just as she is with her skin and her voice and it’ll be just fine. 

Except it won’t quite be just fine if she can’t stop turning to flee back home on the way there. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have even gotten halfway to the club at all if it weren’t for Charles and James. 

“Moni, c’mon. You can _do_ this”, Charles soothes as he hooks her arm into his and gently tries to guide her to face the right direction again. “We know you can and you know you can. We all know this. It’s just a matter of going through with it and we’re right here with you.” 

The closer they get to the Silver Curtain, the more ashen Monica’s face becomes. 

Her legs feel little more than jelly and it’s a wonder that they still support her weight. She feels both underdressed and overdressed in her red-and-blue polka dot dress with the frilly hems, simple blue bangles, plain red pumps, and red cloche hat with the three little blue hearts in its band. She blinks back unshed tears of anxiety and her throat keeps struggling to push down a wet wad of sobs.

And she very much needs her throat for the next several minutes.

She thought she could do this. 

She cannot do this. 

James gently takes her other arm, copying Charles. He tries to help him in gently guiding Monica to the club. “He’s right. We’re right here with you. We ain’ going anywhere any-”

Monica doesn’t move. 

“But ya’ll ain’ gon’ be on that stage with me, goddammit!” Monica cries, her voice just on the edge of shrill. A few passerby glances worriedly at them. “Ya’ll are gonna have to keep your asses waiting outside, just like everybody else! That ain’ right fuckin’ there with me!” 

“Okay, okay”, James relents. “You’re right. We can’t be up on that stage with you. But if we _could_ , we would, Monica! But we’re right now and we’re not leaving you for anything.” 

Charles nods. “See? We’ll be there when you go inside and we’re still going to be there when you come out. And we know you’ll go in there and just do your best and what comes, comes. It’s okay. No, Moni, look at me- _it’s okay._ ”

“But Moni, baby, you’re gonna be late if you don’t keep moving”, James softly cautions. He tugs just a little on her arm. 

Monica forlornly looks ahead at the rest of 126th and slowly shakes her head. She slips her arms out of her two boys’ and turns around to head back home. “Fuck it. Fuck ‘late’. Better yet, I’ll just…maybe I’ll just try for a spot next year or something.” 

“What, no! Monica, this is what you want! Plus, there may be no more open spots next year, or even in the next few months!” Charles pleads. 

“Yeah, wait! You don’t wanna pass this up! You deserve a chance to try for a spot right now! Please!” James adds. 

Monica stops in her tracks. James and Charles can tell from the shuddering line of her back and shoulders that she’s working even harder to hold back from crying. 

And not quite succeeding at it. 

One of her hands grips the bottom part of her dress and the other goes up to her face, where both men know she’s wiping at tears. 

“Oh, _shit_ ”, Charles says. He comes up behind Monica to gently take her in his arms, rubbing her back, whispering soothing nothingness in her ears. 

James comes up on the other side of her, yanking tissues out of his pocket. While Charles holds her, James tenderly takes Monica’s hand away from her face and uses the tissue to carefully wipe at her wet face. He even wipes her nose and taps its endearing button tip when it’s all clean and that earns him just a tiny giggle from her. 

Monica wraps one arm tightly around her waist and leans into Charles’ hug. With her other hand, she grips James’ bicep. She sniffles for just a little while longer and then quietly asks, “…What if they really don’t like my voice? What if I really can’t sing?” 

“But you _can_ sing. You really can, Moni”, Charles assures her. “You remember when Mr. Ramos’ infant daughter was sick all that while ago? And they couldn’t afford her medicine at the time? Whose lullabies helped soothe her to sleep?” 

“Or how ‘bout that time when we were in elementary school when the teacher was lookin’ for someone to headline the chorus for the Christmas carols? Who’d she pick on that very same day?” James asks. 

“And that time when Mrs. Hagen’s jukebox completely broke down at her diner? Who started singing as a joke at the counter, but so many people flocked to the diner and otherwise just stayed there long after they ate just to hear her?” Charles asks. “And who got so many people just stopping by to listen to her that day that Mr. Hagen offered to pay her, even when she declined and kept insisting that she was just messing around?” 

“And we got more examples”, James assures. 

“Yes. _Plenty_ more”, Charles agrees. “And even if they _do_ say ‘no…well, Moni, that’s the worst thing they can say to you. There’s nothing worse than that. And you…might feel worse if you don’t even try at all today and then you’ll be wondering what would’ve happened if you went in there and they _did_ say ‘yes’ to you.” 

James nods. “You never know unless you try. You have a spectacular voice anyway and you deserve to have as much of Harlem as possible to hear it.” 

“Just…come with us. Just try”, Charles begs. 

Monica closes her eyes and takes a deep breath…and another…and then another. When she next opens her eyes, there’s a watery smile on her face. “…Alright. I’ll try my best. But I done messed up my makeup now. I hope that doesn’ count against me…” 

“Oh, here!” Charles pulls fresh tissues out of James’ pocket and meticulously cleans up the smudged eyeliner under her eyes, the tear tracks on her cheeks, and the tiny bit of smeared blush on her cheekbones. 

James beams at her. “You see? You’re all fresh an’ brand new lookin’ now! Like nothin’ ever happened!” 

Charles nods in agreement while tossing the used tissues in a nearby trashcan. “Mmhmm. No one will be able to tell a thing, Moni.” 

Monica gives a teeny sniffle and brightens her smile. “ K-kay. Let’s…let’s go.” 

Her boys smile right back at her. She turns back around, loops her arms through theirs and they march down 126th to the Silver Curtain for her audition. 

Upon seeing the _line_ of people waiting outside, Monica’s heart picks up again and she grips her boys’ arms tighter. They give a warm, reassuring squeeze right back. 

“Just remember”, Charles says as they get in line. “That we’ll be right out here, on the other side of the doors waiting for you. We won’t leave. We promise.” 

James says, “And whatever happens, it happens. You just gotta know that you went in there and did your absolute best and that’s all anyone can do any day. We still love you no matter what.” 

“No matter what”, Charles confirms. 

Monica smiles at both of them and focuses on calming her breath and heart. 

_Just do your best._

_Whatever happens, happens. The worst they can say is ‘no’ and if they do, you can always try again._

_This is your palace, dammit…you’ll sing this whole house down along with the rest of Harlem and you’ll wear so many dresses…so, so many dresses…_

_Breathe, breathe, breathe…you’ll need your breath to do this…so breathe…_

It’s a blink and the line is significantly shorter. They’re almost to the wide, granite steps which lead to the huge double doors. Though Monica has managed to get her breath and heart much, much calmer, she can’t quite pay too much attention to her surroundings. She can’t see much of the club, much of the rest of this part of 126th. 

But she can see and hear the people going inside, the faint sound of a musical instrument playing, and then they come out a side door of the club. Some are stone-faced. Others are outright sobbing and blindly stumbling into friends and families’ arms. And then there are those that are ripping up pieces of paper, throwing it to the ground and flinging curses at the entirety of the world. 

Very, very few of them look happy, much less triumphant. 

Monica looks up at the early-evening sky and her mind conjures a little tune that she sings to herself in the shower. She hums it to herself only in her head. 

It’s another blink and Charles and James have to part from Monica because she’s inside the doors of the Silver Curtain. The ushers politely ask for her name and when she gives it to them, they nod and check it off on the clipboard. Monica waits for a while behind three other women. At one point, she thinks she hears a brand new string of curses inside followed by stomping. 

Another blink and she’s inside the club itself, though she still can’t quite see it. 

Soon another usher waves her into…what might be a main dining area or a dancefloor, she can’t tell. They instruct her to go right up to the stage. 

It’s her turn. 

Right in front of the stage and sitting at a long table together are the two co-owners of the Silver Curtain: Ms. Delilah Chaucer and Mr. Ronald Bailey. Their heads are down as they alternate between scribbling on their clipboards and drinking out of their mugs of coffee. Ms. Delilah Chaucer is a rotund, elderly Black woman with about the same dark complexion as Monica and bifocals that nearly take up the whole of her face. Somehow, though she’s surely been working with auditions all day, her plum dress is unrumpled. Mr. Ronald Bailey is a thin, middle-aged Black man about a shade or two lighter than both Monica and Ms. Chaucer. There looks to be a bald spot in the very middle of his scalp. 

They both look thoroughly harassed and exhausted. 

Monica ascends the stairs to the stage with legs that are icy and numb. She blinks in the bright stage lights; it’s a wonder that she doesn’t stumble, much less trip and fall flat on her face. A frigid trembling takes over her muscles as she steps right up to the shiny, silver microphone. She clears her throat and winces when, predictably, the sound carries through the quiet club. 

Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey look up from their papers and give her impersonal, cordial smiles. Monica thinks she smiles back. 

“If you’ll state your name f’us darlin’?” Ms. Chaucer asks. 

“Yes, I’m Monica Lynne”, she says in a voice that only shakes a little. Just a little. 

Mr. Bailey flips through his clipboard. “And…you’ll be singing for us, right, Ms. Lynne? Nothing else? No dancing, no piano playing, etcetera?” 

“Correct.” 

“Alright. We’re mighty happy t’see you here, Ms. Lynne. But we’ll emphasize to you, ya know, to _please_ only sing, as your sign-up indicated. ‘Kay?” 

Monica nods jerkily. “Yes, I understand.” 

Ms. Chaucer gives her that smile again and taps her pen against her clipboard. “Well, then. You may sing anyt’ing you like, hon. Anyt’ing at all. Whatever kinda song you think is best suited to show off your voice to us? G’on an’ sing it outta your heart.” 

Mr. Bailey nods. “And start whenever you’re ready. Need to take breaths, just take breaths. And if you need water, we got that for you. Jus’ take your time, Ms. Lynne.” 

In response, Monica thinks she smiles at them. 

_Breathe…Charles and James are right here…just try your best…breathe…you’ll need it…c’mon, Moni…c’mon…_

She takes a deep breath. Clears her throat. Closes her eyes. Steps closer to the microphone. 

And tries her best.

 _You say we must part_  
_But I can’t tell my heart_  
_And when the last dance is thru_  
_And there’s no one to turn to_  
_You’ll think of me_

When Monica lets the very last note ring on its own crescendo through the club, she slowly opens her eyes. 

Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey are looking at her…funny. 

Very, very funny. 

Mr. Bailey ducks his head down to furiously scribble on his clipboard while Ms. Chaucer says something to her. There is a silent roaring in Monica’s ears and so she can’t understand what the older woman is saying. She asks Ms. Chaucer to repeat and…still she can’t understand. 

Monica decides not to further embarrass herself by asking for a second clarification. She merely nods and thinks she gives them a smile as she moves to get off the stage and out the side door. 

Voice trembling, she says, “Th-thank you, umm…f-for your time. Th-thank you.” 

She’s off the stage when both Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey stand up and walk towards her. Oh god, they must really want to tell her how much they hate her voice-

“Ms. Lynne! Please wait! I think you’re so nervous that you misunderstood us, hon!” Ms. Chaucer exclaims. 

Monica slowly turns around and frowns in confusion. “I-I’m sorry, what?” 

Mr. Bailey smiles a smile…full of empathy and wonder. “We requested that you headline our opening night slot, please, Ms. Lynne.” 

If Monica was staring at the two with an uncomprehending face, now she’s staring at them with a face that suggests they must be aliens. “Y-you’re talkin’ ‘bout…opening…?” 

“Yes, ma’am”, Ms. Chaucer confirms. “We’d like you to take the very firs’ performance on our openin’ night. You know, headline it.” 

“If you’d be so kind to do us the honor? Your voice gotta be the best we ever heard all damn week”, Mr. Bailey says, while his co-owner nods in agreement with him. 

Monica nods slowly, lest she increase her dizziness. “I…sure…yeah. The first…spot on…opening night. I can…yeah.” 

The co-owners beam at her and Ms. Chaucer asks, “So, then, we’ll see you here bright and early at nine o’clock next Monday to start rehearsals? You know that by next Monday we’ll be in May and we’ll be rehearsing for all that month before we open in June.” 

“And you pick whatever three songs you’d like to sing and you’ll come here to practice them”, Mr. Bailey adds. 

Monica just nods slowly again and finds it difficult to close her mouth. 

Mr. Bailey rubs at his jaw. “Umm…Ms. Lynne, you need some help to the door? Or better yet, you wanna sit down for a while? Can we get you a glass of water? Ain’ no shame in that.” 

Monica blinks. “I-no, no. I think I…the door’s right behind me…right?” 

They nod. 

“Well, I think…I can…find my…way out. I…uh huh. Th-thank you. B-buh bye, now. I…next Monday, too…I…yeah.” 

They stand there and keep vigil over her as she staggers her way to the door, her heels clicking irregularly on the floor. Night has nearly fallen and she blinks in the bright streetlights of 126th. She blinks again and Charles and James are right there. 

Her boys take one look at her face and move to comfort her. 

“Moni, it’s alright. There’s always next time.” 

“Yeah. What matters is that you went in there at all. We’re so happy and proud for you.” 

Monica works her mouth once, twice, several times before she can get the words out. “N-no, ya’ll. That…that ain’t what happened. I…that ain’t it. I…opening night. First spot, first show.” 

Charles blinks slowly. “Opening…night?” 

“You’re the fucking headliner?” James blinks just as slowly. 

Monica nods, a warm rumbling starting up in her heart, slowly taking away the iciness in her limbs. “Yeah. That’s right. I…I got in, ya’ll. I got into the Silver Curtain.” 

Charles and James’ faces go from dazed disbelief to awed happiness in less than five seconds. James gives a loud _Woooohoo!_ and punches the air. Charles smooches her soundly on the mouth, grabs her in a tight hug and spins her around, making her cloche hat fly to the ground. 

Monica’s joyous laughter sounds like it rings all through 126th. She feels like she can finally come up from air after being submerged under a mountain of fear and anxiety for so long. Her arms tightly grip Charles back around his neck as he spins her around. 

“See? We knew you could do it!” Charles exclaims. 

James throws his arms around both of them and holds on tight. “You got it, Moni! Not only a spot, but fucking _headlining opening night!_ ”

Monica can only laugh again in the embrace of her man and her best friend. As the adrenaline simmers down in her blood, tears come to her eyes and it’s all she can do to hold Charles tighter. 

James warmly rubs her back and offers, “Wanna go collar a hot in celebration? Your pick, Moni!” 

Charles gently sets her down, and then picks up her cloche hat and settles it back on her head. “And you can tell us all about it on the way there, too!” 

Monica grins and demurely dabs at her eyes. James hands her fresh tissues. “Yeah. I…let’s go an’ collar ourselves a hot at Mrs. Hagen’s, huh? Imma need me a good mac n’ cheese tonight…” 

Her boys beam at her. She loops her arms through theirs and she regales them of her short audition as the three of them stroll down 126th. 

-

Anthony sits at his vanity, carefully slicking his hair with pomade oil in preparation for yet another meeting when Rumiko and Virginia appear in his mirror. 

He grins. “Hey, ladies! What’s up?” 

They loom just inside his bedroom’s door. Virginia has that…shadow over her face again and Rumiko folds her arms under her breasts. In response, Anthony gets a bit of a roiling in his stomach, but he ignores for the time being in favor of listening to what they have to say first. 

“Hey, Anthony”, Rumiko starts. “Ummm…it sure looks like you’re having the time of your life with James…or ‘Rhodey’, as it were. V told me all about it over that pizza and chocolate soufflé.” 

Virginia nods her agreement. “Yeah, we’re really glad that you’re having so much fun.” 

Anthony puts his pomade oil away and picks up his clippers for his mustache. Merrily, he replies, “Oh, yeah. James and I like each other a lot. We have so much fun together.” 

“Mmhmm…about that. It seems that…you’re having even more fun with James than we…thought you would. I mean, you’re…doing a lot of things that’s…outside of dance lessons”, Virginia says. 

The hair clippers clatter onto the vanity and Anthony slowly turns around in his chair to look at his two best friends. He stares at them . “Woah, hey. Wait a minute. You two, plus Jarvis, were the ones that wanted me to get out more and make a new friend. That’s exactly what I did. But now you sound like you don’t like it. What’s going on?” 

Rumiko’s crossed arms tighten and she explains, “Anthony, we were talking about a _casual_ friend. You know, the ones you see just every now and then? This one just every Tuesday for some dance lessons? But now you’re seeing James even more than that.” 

“And you talk about him with a lot of fondness, too. This isn’t casual, Anthony”, Virginia agrees. 

“And it even sounds like, well…” Rumiko shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Like this is going to go far, far past you two being friends.” 

Anthony’s jaw hangs open as he blinks uncomprehendingly at the two women. “W-well, so what if it is going that way? I mean, what the hell is wrong with that? 

His friends just stare right back at him like he’s being the densest he’s ever been. Anthony just raises an incredulous eyebrow in response. Virginia is still staring at him while Rumiko gathers her bearings enough to speak again. 

She starts slowly, “Anthony…you went to a ballroom in Harlem. Is…” She has to pause to take a deep breath. “Is James…Colored like me?” 

A heavy, pregnant silence blankets his bedroom. Rumiko and Virginia’s faces are expectant and Anthony’s is even more incredulous than before. 

Finally, he quietly answers, “No, he’s not.” 

While Virginia raises an eyebrow herself, Rumiko presses, “No, he’s not Colored or no he’s not Japanese like _me_?” 

“…No, he’s not like you, Rumi.”

“So he’s not White, and so that means he’s…?” Virginia leads, eyebrow still raised. 

Anthony works his jaw in irritation. “James is actually Black and I like him _very_ much _just_ the way he is, _just_ fine.” 

At that, Virginia pales, the color just flushing out of her cheeks. Her wide, alarmed eyes glance at Rumiko for help, and then back at him. “And he feels…alright with you?” 

“Of course he does-I wouldn’t still be hanging out with him if he wasn’t. _What?_ What the fuck is wrong here?” Anthony gripes impatiently. 

Rumiko rubs at her forehead and says, “…Okay. So, let’s bring this picture to full relief, huh? So James is Black from Harlem and it’s clear that you two are getting much, much closer than just casual friends that see each other just once a week. James must feel really, really safe around you. And that’s a good thing.” She takes a deep breath. “So does…James know who you really are? Have you told him or are you planning on telling him?”

Anthony splutters. “W-what? H-he knows I’m different from him, but he knows I’m myself around him! He relaxes around me just as much as I relax ar-”

Virginia cuts him off. “No, that’s not what we mean and you know it. Does…James know that you’re not really ‘Tony Carbonell’, but Anthony Stark?” 

“I-I…” Anthony trails off as a mixture of shame, embarrassment and anxiety overtakes him. 

Telling James the truth hadn’t occurred to him even once. 

And Rumiko and Virginia read that plain as day on his face. 

Virginia tries to soothe, “Look…Anthony, we get that the thought scares you. But it’s one thing if James is just someone that you see every now and then. And certainly complete strangers aren’t owed your identity. But now…James is much more than both of those and so he needs to know.” 

Anthony looks down at himself, at his sharply pressed white button-down and equally-sharply pressed trousers. His eyes drift to his bed, which holds the rest of his three-piece suit that’s twenty-five dollars and up to his closet that holds even more-

He pleads, “I can’t…Rumi, V, I can’t tell him this. H-he already reads me like an open book. He picks up plenty enough as it is that I’m different from him and he knows h-how we’re also the same in some ways”, - _Our hands_ \- “I just…” 

He drops his hands to his lap helplessly. “I can’t possibly tell him that I’m different from him like _this_. How could I ever explain it to him? How could he ever look at me the same again?” 

Rumiko quietly says, “Well, Anthony, it’s…not about you and your worry about how he’ll see you ever again. It’s about _him_ and someone he really, really likes choosing to respect him enough to tell him the truth.” 

Virginia nods and adds, “Besides, you can tell him the other parts of the truth, too. You just came to Harlem to get some dance lessons and you ended up meeting someone that you got much, much closer to than either of you thought you would. And it was just, you know, a whole lot of nervousness that had you not telling him for a while.” 

“That’s right”, Rumiko agrees. “It…might not be easy, but you should do it and you _can_ do it.” 

Anthony looks down at himself one more time, and then gives both women a lopsided smile that’s more awkward and painful than jovial. 

“Yeah…sure. You’re both right. I should tell him. So I’ll…I’ll tell him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Monica sings in this chapter [ is actually a canon Monica Lynne song](http://avengersgenderstudy.tumblr.com/post/60715400936/this-is-monica-lynne-in-her-first-appearance-in) (and the only one I could find, unfortunately), from the comics! She was also the 1st woman of color to be featured in an Avengers comics. Too kewl! :D
> 
> The dress she's wearing in that comic panel is where I got the inspiration for the dress that she wears when she welcomes Sam to the neighborhood in the first _With Harlem Lights_ , too. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brand new chapter! Say, can a gal get some more comments? Kinda quiet around here. Even if you just say that you like the chapter, or you can't wait to see what happens, etc. it's greatly appreciated. We fanfic writers are quite starved. 
> 
> And on the topic of comments...I do love & treasure every single comment that I get. I make no exaggeration when I say that I can spend hours just sitting in my computer chair, reading every new one I get over and over and over. But my absolute _favorite_ comments are from fellow black women and girls that tell me that the way I describe our people makes them swoon, makes them tear up, makes them smile. Makes them truly believe the truth that we are worthy and beautiful just as we are. 
> 
> My Harlem Lights stories are about a black man & a white man that are Romeo & Juliet-esque Soulmates. They're about Sam & Steve and Rhodey & Tony. 
> 
> But...when fellow black women and girls read these stories and what they take away from it is that we're **beautiful**? Not just the way I purposely purple prose the hell out of Monica Lynne, but all of the black characters here? Like, **that** is what they take away from it? That is what sticks to them? That is what comes to their mind when they hit that comment button? 
> 
> I start tearing up, too because I've had (and still do have) a long-ass journey from internalized self-hatred and misogynoir and so I know intimately what it's like to need that validation like oxygen. I'm just a fanfiction writer, same as anyone else. I don't own a publishing house, I don't direct TV stations, and I sure as hell don't command Hollywood. But if I can just get such reactions from even a few black women and girls...then I feel I've done my job, I've done my part as a writer. 
> 
> Fellow black women and girls: keep feeling beautiful and worthy and valid **because we are.**
> 
> I am here for _you_.

Work is merciful enough to Anthony that he’s able to keep his Tuesday date with James. 

He holds a vibrant bouquet of carnations for Monica in one hand, and with his free hand he raps thrice on James’ door. 

An excited, “Coming!” sounds from within.

Rumiko and Virginia’s words echo over and over in his head, as they have been ever since they had that conversation. They’re right and he still can’t dispute that; if this is really going where he and James think it’s going, then James deserves to know the truth. The sooner the better. Yes Anthony will tell James the truth, tell James everything. He’ll especially make sure to let him know that this doesn’t have to change anything, that Anthony is _himself_ when he’s with him and he wants very much to stay with him…

His hand has just the slightest tremor as he fidgets with his glasses and flat cap. His heart starts to pound. 

James finally opens the door, a bright, bright grin on his face. “There you are!” 

_Tell him, tell him, tell h-_

“Here I am!” Tony confirms. He then extends the carnations to the other man. "Umm…I…these are for Monica!” 

James blinks down at the huge bouquet, and then smiles even more broadly. “Great! Listen, she’s actually right in here with Charles. We, uhh…y’know, kinda live out of each other’s apartments. You wanna come inside and meet them right now?” 

Anthony’s heart pounds anew at the thought of finally meeting James’ best friends. “Oh, that’d be wonderful!” 

The other man steps to the side to let him in and his eyes zero in on Monica and Charles sitting at James’ table, enjoying a cup of tea together. They smile and stand up upon Anthony entering the apartment.

James’ description of his two best friends’ beauty didn’t do them even a quarter of justice; Anthony does his best not to embarrass himself by staring open-mouthed at them. 

But James can tell that there’s something off in both of their faces as they take in Tony. Just the slightest tightness comes to Monica’s smile and there are flickers of guardedness in Charles’ eyes. If Tony notices anything amiss himself, James can’t tell because Tony is nervous anyway. 

They meet each other in the middle of James’ apartment and James tries to diffuse Monica and Charles’ discomfort by starting with, “Hey, look who came to visit!” 

Anthony, who suspects not a single thing, adjusts his glasses and nods to both of them in turn. _Make a good impression, dammit._ “H-hello there. It’s the greatest pleasure to finally meet you. James told me so much about you. I’m T-Tony Carbonell and I’m James’, uhh…dance partner.” 

Monica keeps the tight smile on her face while Charles, his own smile still on his face, slowly lifts his eyebrows far above his glasses. 

“‘Look who came to visit’ indeed”, Charles says. He extends his hand to shake the other man’s. “James told us all about you as well and we…can’t wait to hear more.” 

Anthony heartily shakes Charles’ hand and nods fervently in agreement. “I’d like that quite a lot.” 

He then turns to Monica and extends his hand to hers. “And you must be Monica. James told me that you won your audition and I am _so_ happy for you. He also told me that your first rehearsal yesterday went wonderfully and I’m so happy for you on that, too.” 

She nods and offers Anthony her hand and, instead of shaking it, he cradles it delicately and places a kiss atop it. Monica’s carnelian eyes blow wide open and she can’t help but simper behind her free hand. About half of the tightness in her smile melts away. 

Her eyes snap over to James. “My, my, _my_. James, baby, you really did pluck this one up from Sugar Hill.” 

James scoffs playfully. “C’mon now, Moni! You can find guys like Tony over here in the East!” 

“Oh, you sure can!” Monica agrees. “But I’m jus’ sayin’ that this one all but _smells_ somethin’ awful like Sugar Hill.” 

Anthony grins and, remembering the carnations in his hand, proffers them to Monica. “Aww, is that because I brought you flowers to celebrate your winning the headliner spot of the Silver Curtain’s opening night? I wanted to bring these to you before your audition, but I do hope that this suffices.” 

Monica beams as she graciously takes the fragrant bouquet. She brings it up to her nose and inhales deeply, closing her eyes. “Oh Tony, you’re so sweet! Thank you so much for these; they _more_ than suffice and they’re so beautiful. No need to apologize at all.” 

She looks at James and a bit of awkwardness comes over her. “Can you believe that I done thought he brought these over for you, James? Can you believe it?” 

James gestures helplessly at the flowers. “…Moni, the hell am I gonna do with those except accidentally kill ‘em in just one day? And you know I ain’ exaggerating.” 

All four of them dissolve into laughter. 

Charles’ eyebrows have since come down. He looks at Tony with that same flickering in his eyes. “These flowers really are beautiful and we thank you so much. You know, the three of us already went out to dinner in celebration for Moni. But we wouldn’t mind at all going to another dinner celebration with you in tow this time. I mean, one of our friends making a brand new one at all is something to celebrate in and of itself as well. Think we could schedule a time in the future?” 

“That’s funny, because I was just going to suggest the same thing! We can go wherever Monica would like, yes?” Tony exclaims. 

“Perfect”, Charles agrees. 

Monica and James exchange a fraught glance that Tony doesn’t notice and Charles ignores. James’ stomach starts a slow descent to his feet and his eyes silently plead with Monica for help. 

Monica immediately obliges. 

“Well! Tony, thank you again for the flowers and it was great finally meeting you!” She says as she tugs Charles towards James’ door. “We’ll be seein’ about that dinner date soon enough. And in the meantime, we’ll leave you two dance partners alone so you can get ready for your evenin’ together. See you soon!” 

Charles turns back from the doorway to give one last smile at Tony. “Very, very soon.” 

James and Tony nod. James gives a strained smile, while Anthony gives a genuine one. 

When James’ best friends are on the other side of the door, he turns to the other man and says, “Well, welcome to the humble abode! It’s not much exactly, but-”

“It’s yours, so it’s just fine, Rhodey. It’s perfect”, Anthony insists. He looks around and grins. “You really _do_ love planes.” 

“Yeah. Told ya, didn’ I?” 

James’ small apartment truly is littered with aviation paraphernalia. In the middle of the kitchen/dining room table are diagrams of British Army Aeroplane #1. The couch’s end table sports neatly-stacked books and magazine editorials featuring the Packard-Le Pere LUSAC-11; the Salmson 2; the Blackburn Ripon; the Caproni Ca.1; the Sikorsky S-16; and the Standard J-1 among several others. 

When James takes Anthony back into his bedroom and flicks on the light, even more love of airplanes are revealed. There are a few signed photographs tacked to the wall of the Vought VE-7 Bluebird; the SPAD S.A; and the Martin MB-1. Even more books and magazine editorials rest on his two rickety nightstands, some alongside a lamp and the others beside an alarm clock. 

James points to one of the editorials at the very top of the pile. “You see that Stark Industries plane, though? That Johns D-25? That’s one of my absolute _favorites_. That company really does pump out some good stuff, huh?” 

Anthony feels any icy chill enter his stomach…his stomach that fell straight to his feet as soon as James pointed out that particular one. 

He designed and tested the Johns D-25 himself not two years ago. 

And _goddammit_ , he could talk forever and ever and ever with James about how he conceived the plane’s design based on one of his father’s more archaic projects and all the ins-and-outs of its designs and all the things that he could improve upon it, all the things that _James_ could suggest to significantly improve it and James could pilot one of them, James could sit in one of them and they could go flying together…

Just flying and talking and more flying together because they both love planes and they love each other’s company and this could happen perhaps right on this very day if only he’d just come out-

“Tones? Tones, where’d you go?” 

Anthony blinks and realizes that he was staring at the image of the Johns D-25 intently. He snaps his eyes back to James and feigns with a shrug. “I went…looking for a reason as to why that’s your favorite. Ehhh…I guess it’s an alright plane. But I mean, you like so many different ones that I can hardly tell the difference.” 

James’ brow furrows in a playful frown as his jaw drops to the floor. “Tones, the hell? You ‘guess it’s an alright plane’ and you can ‘hardly tell the difference’? Whatchu talkin’ like that for? You admit you don’t even know shit ‘bout planes and you’re talkin’ bad ‘bout my _favorite_ one?” 

“What? Aren’t most planes just, y’know, mostly all the same at the end of the day?” Anthony adopts a playful, wide-eyed innocent look. 

“…You know what? Lemme jus’ get on outta my house with you before I throw a goddamned pillow at your ignorant-ass head.” 

They share a laugh and James takes his hand to lead him out of the apartment and out for their dance.

“A-actually James? Wait?” Anthony tugs on the other man’s hand to stop him. 

James turns and smiles. “Yeah, Tony?’ 

_Fuck, honey bear, stop smiling at me…you’ll only make this so, so much more difficult if you keep smiling at me…_

Anthony swallows his heart down his throat and, hopefully back into his chest. He forces himself to look James in the eye. He has to swallow down his heart again not three seconds later. 

James is waiting in that warm, patient way that only James Rhodes can do. 

“James, I…” Anthony starts. His heart pounds itself all the way back up into his throat, effectively drowning out the words that James deserves to hear. He doesn’t dare try to swallow again to force his heart back down where it belongs. 

_Beat-beat…beat-beat…beat-beat…beat-beat…_

James is still warm and patient. 

_Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him-_

“Can you tell me what that incredible scent is? Like, what cologne do you use, snickerdoodle?” 

James’ mouth makes a perfect, tantalizing ‘o’ in surprise and if Anthony was a quarter of the way to falling into the earth below just a few seconds ago, he’s now halfway to it. 

But James is next grinning with sheepish pleasure at him and his hand is still in his. “Well, y’know, this particular snickerdoodle don’ really use a whole lotta stuff ‘cause this snickerdoodle is on a budget and otherwise don’ indulge that much. But…what’s it smellin’ like and where’s it comin’ from?” 

“Oh, shit. Like…fucking heaven. ‘M sorry, Rhodey, but it just smells like fucking heaven. And it’s coming from your…head.” 

“Ah! I got it. That’s what I put in my hair and it’s in my bathroom. C’mon.”

James leads him into his bathroom and shows him his little luxurious jar of Dapper Dan before they head out for their dance at the Hennessy. 

_Later…I’ll find a way to tell him later for sure…_

\- 

“What the hell was that?” 

“What the hell was what, James?” Charles asks. 

James throws down his cards that weren’t going to be a win anyway. “You know what I’m talking about, dammit.” 

“…I really don’t think you want to have this conversation right now.” 

“Yes, I do. Or I wouldn’t have brought it up at all. So what the hell was that?” 

“Ya’ll two calm down, now”, Monica says, peering at her boys sternly over her cards. “This ain’ something to fight over. And either way, James…if Charles is gon’ say what I think he’s gon’ say, I…have to agree with him.” 

James snaps his head to her. “You ‘agree’ with him? About what? What the hell do you both not like about Tony?” 

It’s their weekly poker night, this time held in Monica and Charles’ apartment. Charles is the one that usually wins (the man has the most uncanny poker face and, on top of that, is a master strategist of the cards). This night is supposed to be one of their fun nights, particularly since life is becoming even more wonderfully hectic and they anticipate not being able to do this nearly as often soon enough. 

But this time, it’s…not nearly as fun what with the tension surrounding the table. 

Monica sighs and puts her cards down, too. Charles follows suit and turns to James. 

“Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?” 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

Charles and Monica share a glance and then Charles says, “James, Tony isn’t from Sugar Hill. He’s most likely not from any part of West Harlem at all.” 

Monica nods gravely. “That’s what I agree with.” 

James blinks uncomprehendingly at his two best friends. He looks between their faces, hoping to detect even just one note of jocularity. But there is none; Monica’s lips are tight while her eyes are worried and Charles’ face is just shy of stony. 

When James can finally speak, hesitance takes over the sharpness in his voice. “Then where do you think he’s from?” 

“That part of New York where all those rich Mister Charlies and Miss Annes gather around to fantasize about when Harlem was theirs not twenty years ago”, Charles replies. 

“And that’s…a lot farther away than Sugar Hill, baby. A whole lot farther”, Monica quietly adds. 

“So you’re…” James trails off as his mind shies away from the mere possibility. “You’re sayin’ that Tony’s been _lying_ to me this whole time?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry”, Charles says, voice softer and face just a tad less stony. 

“Why in the hell would Tony lie to me, huh? I ain’ given him no reason to lie”, James exclaims. 

Charles replies, “No, I don’t think _you’ve_ given him the reason. And that’s because the reason comes from another source.” 

“And just what the fuck is that source?” 

“That I actually can’t guess, but he’s probably choosing it over telling you the truth.” 

“Charles, what the _fuck_. Tony ain’t that kind of guy!”

“You know what, it’s funny that you mention what kind of guy he’s _not_ because it’s sincerely questionable if his name is even ‘Tony Carbonell’.”

Monica tries to interject, “Guys-”

“Oh, so now you’re sayin’ that my dance partner isn’t just lyin’ about where he comes from, but also who he is?! You’re calling him a liar?!” 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Add yet another lie to this? There were already most likely plenty of lies as is when he came to visit us!” 

“Just because Tony is different doesn’ mean he’s a liar, Charles! He’s just…he’s just different!” 

“Yes, so different that he’s not from any part of Harlem _at all_!” 

“Look, I’m not anywhere near blowin’ my top off if you don’t like him ‘cause he’s White, but you’re crossing the line calling him untruthful!” 

“I’m referring to him as what he is!” 

“Look here now-”

“ _Enough! Sit’chur asses down, now!_ ” Monica barks, punctuated with a slap on the table. 

Charles and James fall silent at her harsh voice. They realize that they are, indeed, halfway to standing up from their chairs and leaning over the table antagonistically towards each other. Shame comes over both men as they also realize that they were raising their voices almost to the point of yelling. 

It’s a wonder that none of their neighbors have come by to see what’s wrong, if someone needs help. 

They look anywhere but each other as they slowly, quietly heed Monica. Once seated again, they fidget; James grabs some random cards to hold in his hands to ensure they’re no longer clenching and Charles fiddles with the handle of his tea cup. 

Monica looks back and forth between them, disapproval strong on her face. “What the fuck are you two doin’? _Fighting?_ This shit right here ain’t anything to fight over; it ain’t worth even an ounce of tension in your friendship at all.” 

Charles and James have at least an ounce of dignity left to spare a shamed glance at her. They still fiddle and fidget. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought”, she says. “We ain’t gotta fight and we ain’t even fought since…third grade, lord in heaven. We can discuss this without raising our voices a single octave.” 

She turns to James. “And then, yeah, it needs to be said, James: Tony is a White man.” She goes back to looking between the two of them. “Ya’ll were this close to whippin’ each other’s heads to the red _over a White man_? Fighting over that? Don’t nobody need to fight over a White man; their lot fights and spits and even kills jus’ fine, all on their own. They don’ exactly need Black folk’s help. Or did ya’ll forget the Great War already?” 

The two men finally find their voice and their voices are much, much quieter, nearly to a whisper. 

“Sorry, Moni. This was uncalled for”, James admits. 

“Yes, you’re right, Monica. Completely unwarranted”, Charles agrees. 

“Oh, don’t be apologizin’ to me. I _know_ I’m not the one ya’ll yellin’ at.” She pauses to look sternly at each of her two boys in turn. “Now try to redirect those apologies and see if you get the direction right this time.” 

They both know better than to try to apologize without making eye contact with each other-Monica can sit with them at this table all night long, though she’d rather not. 

And besides which, they really, really _are_ sorry. 

They force themselves to look the other person in the eye. 

“M’sorry, Charles.” 

“I’m sorry, too, James.” 

“Uhh…great.” 

“Very great, yes.” 

A bout of calm silence falls over the apartment, now (still no neighbors coming to check on them). James looks down at their cards, trying to find…something to make the discomfited feeling in his stomach cease. Yes, Tony is different-just _different_. But surely he’s not lying, surely he’s really from Sugar Hill and surely ‘Tony Carbonell’ is his real name. Against his wishes, his brain starts going to work, trying to figure out what in the hell kind of reason Tony could ever have to lie to him about something as serious as his true identity and place of origin. James wracks his brain, trying to find a spot during their time together where he himself ever gave the other man _any_ indication that he couldn’t be honest about shit like that. 

But no matter how hard he tries to think about it, he comes up with nothing, nothing at all. 

James likes Tony so very, very, very much. And he’s sure that likeness will only grow as time goes on. He _wants_ that likeness to grow over time. Charles and Monica’s words are ringing in his head and his stomach still hasn’t settled, but…surely Tony is just different. Yes, Tony is just different-White folks in Harlem quite often are even if they’re not from Sugar Hill. 

Just different…but their _hands_ are the same…

Charles’ soft voice breaks through his ruminating. “James…I…I’m not trying to make you upset and I’m most certainly not trying to ruin a new friendship that you feel is good and right for you.” 

James’ voice is just as soft. “So then, what _are_ you trying to do exactly?” 

“I’m saying…” Charles pauses to take a deep breath. “…that I honestly don’t think Tony is being honest and upfront with you about who he really is and where he really comes from. I’m saying this only because, as your best friend, I don’t want to see you get hurt. And I’d like to think that it’s part of my own job description as a best friend to keep you from getting hurt as much as possible.” 

“Then…who do you think he is if not who he says he is?” James asks. He doesn’t bother trying to hide the slight tremor in his voice. 

“Now that I admit I do not know. But, James, I…I’m not telling you what to do and I’m not insulting your intelligence.” He reaches across the table to grasp the other man’s hand. “I’m just asking you to _please_ be careful and let us or someone else know if something…immediately doesn’t feel right or safe. Please.” 

If James was relaxed before, he fully relaxes now with Charles’ hand on his. He squeezes back and replies, “Yeah, I…I hear you. I dig.” 

Monica gives the first smile since James and Charles started yelling. She puts her hand over her boys’. “See here? What’d I say? Ain’t no reason for fighting. Ain’ no reason at all.” 

The two men smile back at her. 

Monica turns to James and says, “I still do agree with Charles, baby. I think Tony’s lying, too and I want you to be careful and reach out if shit goes awry. And that stands even if he did bring me some gorgeous-ass flowers.” 

James gives a sigh, but before he can protest, Monica speaks again. 

“But. At the same time…I don’t quite think Tony’s tryna hurt you in any way whatsoever. I really don’t.” 

While James blinks uncomprehendingly, Charles stares at her with wide eyes from behind his glasses. 

“We agree that Tony is _lying_ to him, but he somehow doesn’t have any hurtful intentions, Moni…?” He asks slowly. 

Monica purses her lips in thought. “Oh, I can’t explain it. It’s jus’…I dunno…it’s the way he looks at you, James. Like…the whole damn universe goes away for him just by you bein’ there, but at the same time, you _are_ his universe. And it ain’t a false look, either-anyone can see fake, but that shit ain’t. It’s just…someone like that may not be honest with you, but they ain’t dishonest with you because they want to hurt you. It really does have to be some other reason.” 

When Charles can only raise an incredulous eyebrow at her, she scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, now! I’m not beatin’ up my gums here! You were there too, baby; you saw the way Tony was looking at our James. I know you did!” 

Charles, aware of James’ eyes on him, says carefully, “…Yes, I saw that, too. Tony…may not have any ill intent, but he’s still not telling you the truth, James.” 

“Yeah”, Monica agrees. “So like we said, just _please_ be careful, you dig?” 

James nods, looking at both of his best friends with the stoutness of a promise in his eyes. “I dig. I will.” 

A nervous rapping sounds on the door. All three of them turn their head when the voice of one of their neighbors, Mrs. Bankley, sounds on the other side, “Kids? Ya’ll alrigh’ in there? I know ain’ nobody done broke nothin’ in that apartment ‘cause shit be expensive, now!” 

Welp. 

That only took just a little bit longer than they expected. 

-

Friday comes around and, with it, James and Anthony dancing again at the Hennessy Ballroom. They especially get into the Lindy Hop and they manage to nearly crash only about five times into other couples. There’s just something special and cherished and inconceivable about spinning and stumbling and tripping and _laughing_ with someone that you care about, surrounded by like-minded people and good music. 

Oh yes, there’s just something there. 

It only gets better when, towards the end, Ms. Luanne announces that one week from today will be the Hennessy Ballroom’s premiere formal dinner party and ticket sales and RSPV will start tomorrow. At that, there’s loud, raucous applause, exclamations, and loud considerations of what everyone is going to wear to the party with their partner(s). James and Anthony join in the excited chatter, nearly talking over each other in their enthusiasm. 

When the session is over, the two men find themselves once again (still) stumbling and (still) laughing as they leave the revolving doors. 

And still, of course, holding hands. 

“A dinner party at the Hennessy! _Oh_ , I can’t wait!” James exclaims. 

“Me either!” Anthony agrees. “Rhodey, we’ll have to get up early to get our tickets first thing tomorrow! You know it’ll be packed, as it always is. Or maybe even more so!” 

“Exactly! And I wonder if I can snag a cheap tux from somewhere!” 

Anthony quickly hides a wince. “Oh yeah…a tux. I…think I have two or three in the back of my closet. I think I can dust them off and bring them to you to try on, if you like! We’re not that much different in size, so I think that could work out!” 

“Aww, thank you, Tones. Thank you so much”, James replies. “But I got a lil money saved up, plus Moni and Charles have been wanting some righteous rags too, and I pool resources with them.” 

“But are you sure? I mean, you pool with them, so why don’t you pool with me? Plus, I can bring a tux for Charles, too, and see if I have a nice dress for Monica.” _Do you know Rumiko and Virginia would jump to share clothes with her?_

James smiles and takes both of his hands in his. “No, but _thank you_. We got this, Tones, really. You’re so kind to offer.” 

Anthony squeezes James’ hands in his. “Well…will you at least promise me that if, for any reason, you don’t have it, you’ll remember that the offer stays open and so you’ll let me know?” 

“Yep! I can promise you that!” 

“Thanks.” 

“No, thank _you._ ”

And Anthony knows that there’s no way in hell he’ll be able to wear a tuxedo around James. Even with his glasses and say, a bowler hat, there’s no way in hell he could keep up his disguise if he dared to put a _tuxedo_ of all things on. James, and everyone else in Harlem for that matter, would snuff him out in less than a second. His secret would be out before he could explain things to James and then…James would never look at him the same ever again. 

_If you can hardly bear just the thought of him looking at you like you’re a stranger, then that’s why it’s fucking smart to go ahead and_ tell him the truth and explain everything _you goddamned coward._

And James…is nineteen-years-old, same as him, and he’s never owned a tuxedo in his entire _life_ while he has about fifteen, a great many of them in different styles for different occasions. 

And Anthony just lied to him about having only two or three dusty ones, in the back of a closet. 

A joyful image mists into his mind of him and his James having all the fun in the world in his walk-in closet, trying and fitting James into his tuxedos, picking out which ones are nice, but need to be re-tailored and customized for his body, which ones are James’ favorites, which ones…which ones…

It might happen. 

It _could_ happen if…

 _Tell him the fucking truth, asshole…_

But James is oblivious of the other man’s dilemma. Those diaspores continue to shine with excitement. “We’ll be one of the finest-lookin’ couples there for sure!”

Anthony adjusts his glasses and can’t help but smile back at James. “We sure will!”

James stops and just…looks at Tony for a long, long moment. He looks at him, in his plain shirt and trousers with the suspenders-roughly the same outfit he himself is wearing. He looks at his flat cap and glasses, both just slightly askew from their Lindy Hopping. He looks at his face, at his mouth, at his eyes.

Charles and Monica’s words during their poker night pop into his head again, and not for the first time. 

But he looks and looks and looks at Tony and he just can’t _see_ anyone else in there. 

He just can’t see anyone else but his Tony Carbonell. His Tony Carbonell that’s kind, hilarious, nervous in that adorable way, generous and just someone that he finds himself relaxing around quite a lot. 

He just can’t see a lie.

He only sees someone that he feels and can be perfectly safe with. 

Someone that he wants to see even more of, see as much as he possibly can. 

Tony looks back at him, but in confusion. “…Rhodey? What’s the matter, honey bear? What’s going on?” 

“I’m…I guess I’m just glad that I know you. I’m glad that you’re you”, James softly responds. 

That sends Anthony’s heart hammering straight past his throat and into his mouth. He forces a playful grin onto his face. “Well, of _course_ I’m me and you know me! I’ll always be me and you’ll always know me, you hear me? I mean it.” 

James’ diaspores are twinkling as he smiles. 

_Always._

-

“‘The next big name in Harlem nightclubs is sure to be the Silver Curtain’”, Monica happily reads from the New York Amsterdam, “‘That big name is especially likely what with the highly-anticipated opening night’s headliner: Ms. Monica Lynne of East Harlem, a little lady with a big voice!’” 

“‘Little lady with a big voice’? I like that!” Charles remarks as he refills her coffee. 

“I agree!” James says from the stove, where he’s scrambling eggs for the three of them. 

Monica’s face is brighter than the early morning sun outside. She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs under her leopard-print robe, ruffles the newspaper a bit and continues, “‘Our exclusive interview with Lynne as well as several other performers highlight what we can expect from future Silver Curtain performances and keep us excited for many more surprises to come!’”

“Our Moni got herself an interview featured in the fucking _New York Amsterdam_ ”, James sighs. “Can this day get any better?” 

Charles grins as he gets plates out. “It’s certainly one of the best days we’ve ever had so far, hmm?” 

Monica merrily continues reading and reminiscing all about her interview with the newspaper while James and Charles set breakfast on the table. Breakfast is good on this early morning: bacon with not an ounce of fat trimmed; scrambled eggs; hash browns with onion and bell pepper; grits with the sugar, butter, and jelly in reach; and there’s the pot of coffee and pitcher of orange juice right in the middle of their table. 

“And these are great pictures, ain’t they?” Monica asks, turning the paper over to show her boys where she’s shown with the ensemble of the recently-hired Silver Curtain entertainers. 

“They are! We’re so happy for you, Moni. We really are”, Charles says. 

James nods as he whips grape jelly into his grits. “And then just wait ‘till after opening night! You and the Silver Curtain will be all the papers will talk about for the next weeks!” 

Monica beams, tucks the newspaper away, and digs into her bacon. “Thanks, ya’ll. I’m so excited-for us, too. We gon’ be bailin’ even more. I can just see it.” 

Charles and James smile back at her and there’s comfortable silence around the table for the next few minutes as they eat before Monica speaks up again. 

“Oh! And speaking of bailin’? I got a surprise for ya’ll! I _just_ got it yesterday, at my last rehearsal!” 

“What is it, Moni?” Charles asks. His eyes are wide with curiosity behind his glasses. 

“Yeah, whatchu got for us?” 

Monica slips her hand into the right pocket of her robe and pulls out…an envelope. “I got my allowance for clothes! Thought we could combine this with what money we got saved up. I did the math on our budget, and we can each get two outfits a piece and just build up a nice wardrobe of righteous rags over time!” 

“…You got your allowance”, Charles slowly repeats in an awed daze. 

“This means…we’re finally goin’ zoot suit shoppin’”, James just-as-slowly says. 

“Mmhmm!” Monica confirms. “I mean, it’s time, ain’t it? James, you’re goin’ to that Hennessy dinner party with…Tony. And Charles and I deserve a nice, lovely evenin’ out and about, jus’ the two of us! Perfect occasions to get draped down!” 

Her boys grin at her, and then at each other. 

“Well, Moni, when do you want to go? See, I was actually going to go back to the library today…” Charles says. He’s been spending extra time in the library lately in-between his Spanish classes. 

James rubs the back of his neck. “Ehh, you know me. I barely ever have any plans outside of work, Tony, and you two…uhh, not necessarily in that order.” 

Grinning, Monica rolls her eyes and waves the envelope full of green around. “Oh, c’mon, now! Today is a great day-it’s a _perfect_ day in fact!” 

“Yeah, but Moni…how we gon’ get ourselves properly fit for clothes when we’re so full from breakfast?” James asks. “Our stomachs gon’ pop out between the buttons before we even know what happened.” 

“Hmmm…” Charles starts. “Actually, James, I think our Monica here means to have us walk breakfast off. She’d have us walk from here all the way up 126th where those fancy boutique shops are and, most likely, by the time we get there, we’ll have burned off enough of the breakfast to fit in-between buttons.” 

Monica squeals and claps her hands. She leans forward to place a sound kiss on Charles’ cheek. “See, it can do a Black lady good, havin’ a man that knows her! Why, my Charles here is a born-and-true ‘Monica Lynne translator’!” 

Charles shrugs humbly even as his eyes glitter with pleasure. “Ah, what can I say? It’s merely part of my job description as the one and only Monica Lynne’s Soulmate.” 

James cuts up his eggs, a smile on his own face. “Welp. We better g’on and devour this here meal before we air out and step up to that boutique.” 

“That’s right! We’re goin’ shoppin’!” Monica declares. 

-

The JC Florence Boutique is but two blocks up 126th Street from the Silver Curtain. The teeny shop’s walls are painted a refreshing baby blue and the two stately columns on either side are milk white. The boutique’s name streaks daintily in beige right above its front door. Said front door has a bay window on each side. Each bay window showcases four different outfits plus accessories that entice passerby. 

Monica, Charles, and James (with breakfast greatly digested) all stand in front of the shop, taking the time to admire the outfits in the JC Florence’s windows. Charles and James are dazzled and unable to decide which one they’d like, or even which one they’d keep in mind as an idea for a style. But Monica’s eyes are trained on an off-the-shoulder, low cut fuchsia dress that’s featured with a bright gold necklace and earrings. 

When they go inside, they see that there are less than a handful of other customers. They’re approached almost immediately by the owner herself: Mrs. Rudy Benton, a Russian straight up from the bayous of Louisiana and considered one of Harlem’s greatest fashion consultants. She’s a middle-aged Black woman just a shade lighter than Monica and is never seen without her oversized bifocals, long pink pearl necklace tastefully paired with a scarf, and heels that go _clickity-click-a-clack_ across her boutique’s wooden floor. 

She peers at the three of them over her bifocals and guesses, “…First time gettin’ fitted for some righteous rags?” 

The three of them reply to her with a chorus of ‘Yes, ma’am’’. 

Mrs. Benton nods and purses her lips. “Thought so. Which one a’ya’ll got an idea for what you want specifically and which one a’ya’ll kinda wanna feel your way through, sample a bit ‘fore you find whatchu like?” 

Monica raises her hand. “I’d like that fuchsia dress you got displayed in your window, please, ma’am. Or something like it.” 

“I’m…feeling my way through. But I definitely need a tuxedo for the Hennessy Ballroom, please”, James says. 

“And I…well, may I sample something something blue or black, please?” Charles says. 

Mrs. Benton turns to one of her employees and orders, “Our pink spectrum for the lady, our sharpest bow ties for this young man, and…perhaps the cerulean shades for this young man.” 

Her employee nods with a smile, gestures to the three of them to follow her deeper into the store…

…And thus begins the truly bailin’ first time of trying on righteous rags. 

The employee, Regina Elizabeth, takes each of their measurements as she happily chatters away to them. She read about Monica in the paper just this very morning and congratulates her, to which Monica replies with enthusiastic thanks. James doesn’t mind at all when, as she takes his measurements around his waist, her hands linger; Monica and Charles hold back snickers. 

Regina pulls out clothing options for all three of them to narrow down and try on. She offers several stunning, form-fitting pink dresses to Monica; impossibly bright, cerulean zoot suits to Charles; and the sharpest, most dashing tuxedos to be found in this part of West Harlem to James. She guides them to mirrors adjacent to the dressing room and specifically aids James in choosing his preferred tuxedo (he never knew there were so many subtle differences in styles). Meanwhile, she assures them to take their time in deciding which clothing they want to sample. 

Indeed, the three of them _do_ take their time: it’s about half an hour when they finally narrow down their top choices. 

There’s a bit of a shortage in dressing rooms and so Regina ushers Monica into a dressing room all her own while she has Charles and James share one together. 

The two men can’t help but laugh as they bump elbows and knock heads more than once while they undress. In-between the laughter, James steals looks at Charles Mark, the Mark he shares with Monica. Their Mark is positioned right smack in the middle of their backs and is a glowing head of a panther. Its maw is wide open, showing off razor sharp teeth and James imagines a mighty, proud roar coming from it. Charles’ is a glittering black, while Monica’s is a shimmering lavender. 

He finds himself thinking how lucky Charles and Monica are to have found each other so early in their lives, to truly be the happiest, healthiest Soulmate couple James has ever had the privilege of seeing in his life.

And he knows…he knows that there’s no way he and Tony could ever be…

But the image wafts yet again into his head anyway. At least it can be a faraway fantasy, where it can be safe in his head. 

They soon finish dressing and stand close together to fit into the mirror’s frame and look at their reflection. 

It’s…surreal, to say the least. 

Truly and totally surreal. 

Charles, if possible, is more beautiful than ever in a three-piece, suave cerulean zoot suit complete with a wide-brimmed hat. James…barely recognizes himself in his first-ever tuxedo. He can’t keep his eyes off the reflection and Charles is in much the same predicament. 

“…Hey, Charles…?” James tugs at the bow tie. 

“Hmm?” 

“Do you…do you think Tony will like…y’know…me in a tux? Or d’you think he’ll…?” 

Charles falls silent and just looks at his best friend in the mirror for a moment. Finally, he sighs and says, “I think you could show up in nothing but a burlap sack and newspaper shoes and…Tony…would think you’d just put the sun to shame.” 

James meets the other man’s eyes in the reflection and smiles in thanks. “Y’know, Moni will feel the same way ‘bout you. She’s gon’ see you in that zoot suit and fall head over heels for you all over again.” 

“I imagine it’ll be reciprocated, actually”, Charles laughs. 

Monica chooses that time to knock on their dressing room door. “Hey, ya’ll ready yet? If you are, c’mon out so we can see each other!” 

Charles and James oblige-

Monica Lynne is indescribably beautiful in the very low-cut, off-the-shoulder fuchsia dress that was advertised in the window. 

When James can pick his own jaw off the floor, he helps Charles do the same. Monica looks in-between the two of them and, though her jaw manages to stay off the floor, her eyes are wide and bright with appreciation. 

_Damn_ , they all look good. 

They spend the next hour and forty-five minutes trying on clothes and posing in front of mirrors. Monica twirls, spins, and curtsies at herself; James adjusts his collars and smirks at himself; Charles winks at himself over his shoulder. 

James already chose a satisfying tuxedo; Monica’s heart was set on that fuchsia dress and so she chose that as her first purchase; and Charles, after carefully deliberating, picked a cerulean zoot suit. 

And so they have just one more outfit to pick out each. Their time in the JC Florence Boutique ends with Monica choosing a slinky silver dress along with a stark white headband for her premiere performance at the Silver Curtain; Charles can’t help but pick out a navy blue zoot suit; and James decides to be fully adventurous and get a red-orange zoot suit. 

When Mrs. Benton rings them up, they don’t quite fall to the floor at the total, in part, because she gives “first time kids” a generous discount. 

By this time, it’s nearly late afternoon and they’re starving. Monica is in her new fuchsia dress while Charles and James are in their new zoot suits and they…really don’t want to change back to their regular clothes. But Mrs. Benton gives them a kindness again: she offers to hold their regular clothes and their additional purchases for them up until closing time at no additional cost.

They thank her greatly and go on their merry way to the High Oyster, one of the many fancy restaurants of 126th-they can afford to splurge just a bit more tonight. Monica gets in the middle of her two boys, loops her arms through theirs and _damn_ , they look good bailin’ and steppin’ with and around everyone else. 

And goddammit, they feel like a real _crew_ , steppin’ up 126th Street, draped down in their brand new righteous rags.

A real crew, steppin’ up 126th Street. 

-

Rumiko and Virginia have a system with Anthony for parties. They stay together for the first ten minutes and, if Rumi and V feel comfortable (signaled through a casual arm pat), Anthony will depart to mingle elsewhere. He never moves out of their line of sight and always watches out of the corner of his eye for their signal that they need him (Rumi will toy with her hair; V will touch her lips). And when he comes to their side, he’ll listen for a verbal cue if they merely want to move away or go back home. 

Anthony and Rumiko, whose turn it is to go with him this time, apply this system at the mayor’s son’s birthday party. 

And so the ten minutes are up and Anthony leaves Rumi as she comfortably chats and laughs with the mayor’s wife and eldest daughter. He mingles for about half an hour more, and then plants himself at the bar, where they’ll be able to keep each other in their line of sight. He tosses a ten on the counter and asks for champagne (Prohibition is a long-running joke that everyone but Capitol Hill gets). 

_Figure out a way to tell James…gotta figure out a way to tell James-_

Abruptly, the reek of cloying perfume threatens to clog the holy hell out of his nose and throat. 

“Is that Anthony Stark himself? What a pleasure it is seeing you here!” 

Anthony chokes a noise back down his throat that would’ve been halfway to vomiting. He plasters his public smile on his face and turns to see who it is. He idly swirls his champagne around and reminds himself to keep from gripping the flute too tightly.

Upon looking at the woman, he sees that he has absolutely no idea who she is. And he’s not actually interested in finding out anyway-he’d much rather think about James and keep an eye out for Rumi. 

Anthony steals a glance at Rumiko to check for hair-toying and finds none. He snaps his eyes back to the woman. “Isn’t it? I’m just full of pleasures and surprises aren’t I?” 

“You sure are.” She grins slowly at him, clearly waiting for some kind of recognition. 

Anthony tries, “So…Marge?” 

A slight, cold raise of a carefully-manicured eyebrow is the only indication of deep displeasure. “Lottie, actually.” 

It rings not a single bell. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah! Hi there. It’s…been a long time, hasn’t it?” Anthony keeps that public plastic smile on his face. 

Lottie’s face goes right back to grinning. “It most certainly has!” 

He forces himself to lean closer to Lottie and changes his smile into a smirk. “So what have you been up to lately? I bet you’ve been all over the place, huh?” 

Lottie’s eyes shine. She flips her hair back and puffs out her chest and he pretends to have trouble keeping his eyes on her face. “It’s such good timing that you should ask that! Would you believe that I just got back from Florence a few days ago?” 

“Oh, is that so?!” 

“Yes! It was one of the most enjoyable vacations we’ve ever had! But you know what?” Lottie bats her eyelashes twice at him. “I took a ton of pictures, but I forgot to bring them with me!” 

Well, then. 

Lottie puffs her chest out more and continues, “And I’d love to show you those pictures, Anthony. I know you’ve been to Italy several times over, but surely you know and appreciate how much a picture is worth? You’ll humor me won’t you?” 

Anthony injects just a bit of empathy into that plastic smile. “Ahh, Lottie. There’s nothing I’d love more than to humor you. Believe me. But unfortunately, I just find myself wrapped up in work and business. So maybe another time.” 

At the mention of his “work and business”, Lottie gives a surreptitious in Rumiko’s direction, which Anthony follows. Rumi has moved onto a fellow socialite, one of her regular friends and, though she sends a sympathetic glance his way, there’s still no hair toying. 

“Well, I can’t fault an outstanding man like you for being so busy”, Lottie says. “But I’ll be sure to bug you later on because you really simply _must_ see these pictures.” 

Anthony next injects enthusiasm into that plastic smile. “I look forward to it.” 

He then makes the mistake of taking a sip of champagne…with the arm that’s wearing his watch. He watches in real time as her pupils dilate. 

_Three…two…_

“Oh, I like your watch!” 

_…one._

“Ah, thank you. It’s, uhh…well, Lottie, can you believe that I actually don’t remember the brand name?” 

“Well, of course you don’t! I mean, an important man like you would find it hard to find time to remember all of his brands!” 

Anthony only increases his smirk in response- 

A bright, bright flash goes off in their faces. They both turn to see a newspaper photographer looking more excited than apologetic. This time, Anthony barely remembers to bother with keeping the irritation off his face and Lottie doesn’t fare much better. 

The man lowers his camera and looks eagerly between them. “We’re not allowed to actually interview any of this party’s attendees. But I do just have to say if you two are a couple, you both make a _great_ picture! See ya!” 

Lottie turns her grin back on him and his watch. Anthony sighs and wonders just how long this champagne will last him through the night. 

He lets his mind drift back to his upcoming dinner party with James. 

_Tell him…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boutique scenes were most-definitely inspired by [this gif](http://reverseracism.tumblr.com/post/132170537573/note-a-bear-boo-meister-note-a-bear-can) and [these pictures!](http://asasewrites.tumblr.com/post/130071620638/charlibal-young-stylish-black-ysb)
> 
> -SQUEE!- Don't forget to lemme know what you think, dears! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! Remember last chapter where Tony was drinking that glass of champagne at the mayor's son's birthday party? Well, I _completely forgot_ about Prohibition at the time! Yikes! I only came across it again during my research for this chapter and, further, I incorrectly thought that Prohibition only lasted to the late 20s (it lasted until 1934). So I made a little correction in that scene and we'll see it referenced in this chapter here, too. (Hint, hint: [_Everyone_ was still guzzlin' during Prohibition.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speakeasy%20) Black, white, brown...everyone literally together. Apparently ain't nobody really cared.) 
> 
> Also is anyone an avid tea-drinker like me? Because I just had my first tastes of jasmine tea last month and 'tis quite delicious and sweet! It tastes like what would happen if someone liquefied a flower. OMFG, so good! 20/10, would recommend! 
> 
> Okay, now on with the chapter! :D

Once again, work takes Anthony away from James for a long time. But this time, thankfully, Virginia is successful in keeping his Friday for him. 

“I know you’re not upset, but I really am _so_ sorry again, cupcake”, Anthony sighs into the phone. He runs his free hand through his hair and tries not to glare too hard at the hectic calendar on his parlor’s desk. 

“Oh, it’s alright, Tones! Imma miss you, but I’m happy that we won’t have to cancel Friday after all. You jus’ get your work done and remember to take care of yourself; pace yourself, yeah?” James snuggles down deeper against his couch’s pillows, warm and comfy in his pajamas. 

“Thanks and I will. I miss you, too. I just wish I didn’t have to cancel on you all the time. I really do.” 

“Well, you don’t actually cancel on me ‘all the time’, y’know? And either way, it’s not your fault.” James pauses in thought for a moment. “But hey! Maybe we could bail a lil together while you’re on your lunch break? Y’know, collar a hot together? Would your boss let you do that?” 

The floor opens up and swallows Anthony down to the depths of the earth. The mere thought of being able to share lunch with James nearly regularly sounds like heaven. But…but there’s no way he’d be able to make the trek all the way from his Upper West Side to James’ East Harlem in time for lunch with him, and then back again in time to resume his work. Plus, though he manages to eat lunch everyday (you don’t _not_ eat with Jarvis around), the times when he does are irregular. And…

“Actually, Rhodey, I…usually work even while I’m eating lunch. ‘M afraid I wouldn’t be much of a tablemate around that time”, Anthony confesses. 

James spends a good five seconds staring up uncomprehendingly at his ceiling before replying, “…You work even during your _lunch_ time? Tony…what the hell kinda desk job you got? Is your boss shitty or something?” 

_Well technically, honey bear, I’m my own boss. But I have to deal with this hellish panel that call themselves a ‘board of directors’…but either way, ‘shitty’ isn’t too far off the mark._ “Oh, no, bumblebee! You got it all wrong! No one makes me work that hard; I’m just…naturally a workaholic and so I tend to overwork myself too much. It’s bad, but I don’t think it’s a habit that I’ll kick any time soon.” 

James winces. “Aww, damn. Well…I’ll take some comfort in knowing that you _do_ remember to eat while you work. But just…promise me you’ll try an’ balance yourself, huh? Pace yourself for me.” 

“I promise, Rhodey!”

James’ sigh of relief crackles through the other end of the line. “Thanks, Tones.” 

“No, thank you and- _oh!_ ”, Anthony exclaims as a thought comes to him. He sits up straighter in his chair. “How about, on Friday? Instead of just going only going to the dinner party and maybe somewhere after? How about we do a whole lot of other things? Make a whole night of it? Like, we could go w-window shopping afterwards!” 

James’ smile is so wide that his face just might split in half. “Oh, yeah! And we could have, say, a second dessert and some drinks at the High Oyster down the way!” 

“We could even catch a cabaret performance, too!” 

“Damn right! The Silver Curtain has a lot of smaller, sister clubs that do great cabaret, ‘specially on Friday evenings! We’ll figure it out later on?”

“Yeah, that’s great! I can’t wait for Friday!” Anthony’s own face is just about to split, too. “And since I promise to try to balance and pace myself, will you do something for me in return?” 

James stretches on the couch. “Sure. Whaddaya need?” 

Anthony tenderly cradles the phone closer as though it’s James’ hand. “Tell me about all about your day? Pretty James, pretty please?” 

The other man’s burst of laughter crinkles through the line. “Aw, that’s all, Tones? Well, a’ight. So my first car this morning had a tire with a nail stuck in deep-and I mean _deep_ …” 

It’s nearly two hours before they finally say goodnight and hang up. Two, whole hours of talking and laughing until their voices are just on the brink of being hoarse and their stomachs are sore. 

Even when Anthony puts the phone’s receiver back down, his hand stays wrapped around it. He could…he could pick the receiver back up…and call James back…

He could call James back and tell him the truth before their big date on Friday. 

He could do that because, even though it’d be over the phone, it’s the right thing to do. Because James deserves better than this. 

Much, much better than this. 

And Anthony can feel time running out fast. The longer he goes without being honest with James, the harder it will be to convince James that he never, ever had any ill intent. It’ll be hard enough to tell James his true identity, but then to try to explain to James why he took so long to come clean on top of that…

Anthony shudders and grips the receiver until his knuckles bleach white. 

Rumiko keeps giving him side-glances with not a word accompanying them. Virginia’s mouth becomes pinched every time he so much as enters her line of sight. And Jarvis is conveniently forgetting the sugar dish to go with the tea tray.

Time is running out very, very fast. 

The hand that’s gripping the receiver starts trembling. If he…if he could just…pick up the phone and dial James’ number again, he could start off just by telling him that there’s…there’s something he’d like to talk to him about. No, it’s nothing _bad_ and they’re still _definitely_ going out on Friday and it’s just…a conversation that they need to have and it’s just a little too important to have on the phone

If Anthony could just start with that, then maybe it’d be easier for the rest to follow…

But Anthony’s hand flies away from the receiver like it’s burned him. He squeezes his eyes shut and rests his head in his hands. The only sounds in the parlor are his uneven breathing and the ringing, damning shame in his ears. 

“‘M sorry, Rhodey”, he whispers. “‘M trying, but…goddammit, I’m sorry…” 

-

On Friday, Anthony steps into the joyous chaos that is the outside of the Hennessy Ballroom on the evening of its premiere dinner party. His starched dark-maroon button-down is tucked into his plainest black dress pants. Over his button-down and left open is his black leather jacket. His black flat cap and glasses complete the look. 

Because he can’t wear a tuxedo in Harlem. Around James. 

As he slips deeper into the excited crowd, Anthony finds that he can’t spare much attention for the usual, teeming beauty of Harlem all around him during the sun setting. Harlem-James’ home, where so, so many people look like James and are beautiful like James. 

And Anthony can’t admire it as he often does, can’t pay it any attention. 

_Time is running out._

But how…how in the hell could he ever tell James tonight of all nights? They haven’t had a chance to see each other for a week yet again and this night is supposed to be their most fun nights together yet. How could he ever ruin it for James with such unwelcome news? 

At the same time, this night is already ruined before it began just for the simple fact that James still doesn’t know the truth. Anthony is dishonest with him just as much as all the other times they’ve been together.

He’s all but vibrating in his skin as conflict swirls ‘round and ‘round in his head. He clenches his hands and stuffs them in his pocket in a futile attempt to keep them from trembling. 

_You’ve procrastinated and dragged this out long enough as it is. And it’s not fair to James…it’s not fair to him at all…_

Fuck, his hands won’t stop trembling-

“Tony!” 

Anthony turns at the voice, an automatic, genuine brightening to his face. “Hey, there!” 

No sooner do the words come out of his mouth than he’s rendered speechless at the devastating sight of James Rhodes in a tux. 

His dance partner is beyond stunning. His tuxedo is fitted for his body just right and Anthony knows he’s going to especially smell Dapper Dan tonight before James even reaches him. And in the vibrant warmth of the Harlem lights, James is all but _glowing_. 

It is on this night that Anthony Stark decides that James Rhodes will surely be the death of him whether either of them likes it or not. 

But, as of right now, if James is aware of the effect he has on the other man, he shows no sign of it. He finally makes his way to Anthony and throws his arms around his shoulders, squeezing him in a tight hug. Anthony gasps at the contact and it’s not even a thought as he wraps his arms tightly around James’ waist in return. 

And it seems that an embrace from James is all that was needed to stop every last bit of trembling in his hands. 

“I missed you _so much_. ‘M so happy you could make it”, James whispers in his ear. 

It now seems that such words from James are all that is needed to nearly bring back said trembling full-force. 

Anthony can only hold James tighter; James returns the grip and it’s barely a blink and their bodies are flushed together. 

His voice is full of wonder and humility, Anthony asks, “You…missed me?”

James scoffs. “Well of course I did! I ain’t seen you in a whole week in as many times!” 

“James, I…” Anthony trails off and just buries his face in James’ shoulder where it’s flooded with that Dapper Dan that comes from his head. 

“Aww, shit, Tones. Did I just overwhelm you again?” 

Anthony can only manage a nod and buries his face even deeper into his shoulder. He inhales deeply of that Dapper Dan pomade oil and clings even tighter. 

“Well, how ‘bout this? We’ll go inside and have ourselves a bailin’ time so you can get un-overwhelmed and maybe even collaring ourselves a hot in here will help, too. How’s that?” 

Anthony nods again in response. James smiles and pulls away a little, though he keeps his hands on the other man’s shoulders. He looks down at Anthony’s outfit and a bit of shocked dismay comes to his face. “Oh…you don’t have a tux after all? Or any kinda righteous rags to get draped down in? How come you didn’ tell me?” 

_Now’s your chance..._

Heart pounding, Anthony starts, “I…I guess I was just too excited to see you again that I forgot to look in the back of my closet for one. I _do_ …think I have one, but I just forgot. Sorry, honey bear!” 

James’ diaspores melt and he gently squeezes Anthony’s arms. “Hey, now. It’s alrigh’. Next time we go out like this, I’ll call to remind you to get your damn tux out. See? No problems here.” 

“Y-yeah, that’ll…I think that’ll work. Yeah, sure. Thanks, Rhodey”, Anthony replies in rapid fire succession. 

James beams and then tugs on Anthony’s hand. “Great! Well, c’mon! The party’s gon’ start soon!” 

For a moment, Anthony lets himself be pulled to the crowded front of the Hennessy’s revolving glass doors. But he has to…tonight…it has to be _tonight_ because he’s been holding off on this forever and James deserves to know no matter what they plan to do. 

He tugs back on his hand in James’. “R-Rhodey? Wait a second.” 

James, still beaming, stops and turns to look back at Anthony. “Yeah, Tones? What’s up?” 

Anthony struggles not to wince at that affectionate nickname that comes from his fake name. He grips James’ hand tighter in his, takes a deep breath, and starts, “Th-there’s something I need to tell you, James. There’s…I have something to explain to you.” 

“Oh, okay. What is it, Tony?” James asks, eyes warm with reception and patience and that wide smile still on his face. 

_Just explain it to him…he deserves an explanation…c’mon, you can do it…_

“I…” 

But he can’t. 

James looks so especially beautiful and happy and _radiant_ on this night. Those diaspores are luminescent with excitement and that dark chestnut skin is bright with vitality. He really does have to be one of the most beautiful beaus in Harlem sporting a tuxedo tonight. His hand is still warm in Anthony’s.

He’s still looking at him. 

He’s still smiling at him. 

Tonight is supposed to be a fun, wonderful night for James and Anthony can’t even begin to tell the rest of the world what he wouldn’t give if he could see James like this every single day and every single night for the rest of his life. But the longer Anthony takes to answer, the more that smile is falling…just a smidgen it falls, but fall it does while the excitement in those eyes slowly gives way to worry. 

He can’t. 

He just _can’t_. 

“Tony? D’you wanna…do you want to cancel tonight? Want me to walk you home?” James asks quietly, the beginnings of disappointment in his voice. 

Anthony rushes to correct him. “Oh, no! No, no, no! It’s not that, honey bear. It’s not that at all! I just…I just have something to tell you.” 

James blinks, some of the disappointment giving way to confusion. “Well…okay. Tell me.” 

“I…I’m really, see I’m not…” 

“You’re not…what?” James leads. 

“I’m not really…” 

“You’re not really…what?” 

“I’m…I’m not really…sure that I’m satisfied with just seeing you what few times we get to be together, Rhodey. I…I want to see you more often. I like you. So, _so_ much”, Anthony breathes, heart jumping sporadically between his chest and throat. 

“Aww, _Tony_ ”, James breathes right back. “That was all? You ain’t gotta have a heart attack in the middle of a sidewalk to tell me somethin’ like that, now.”

Anthony gives a nervous laugh. “Y-yeah, I know. I just…I just wanted t-to make sure you knew.” 

“Oh yeah, I know. And trust and believe that I feel the same way about you, Tones. You can trust and believe that.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

“So…ready to start our night bailin’?” 

_Just put it away this time…put it away._

“I sure am!” 

James’ face brightens all over again and he pulls Anthony into the Hennessy. They’re immediately swept up with the rest of the crowd and they follow the ebb and flow punctuated by the loud, swirling, celebratory waltz music into the building’s third floor ballroom. 

It’s the very first time any of the Hennessy’s patrons have ever been to the third floor’s ballroom and each and every one of them feels that the surprise was most certainly worth the wait. The third floor’s ballroom is the largest ballroom that the Hennessy boasts, its grand spaciousness taking up nearly the entirety of the floor. The bright white chandeliers glimmer and sparkle like crystalized champagne high, high above the patrons’ heads. The floorboards here are dark oak and feel so impossibly smooth even through people’s shoes even as no one will be in danger of slipping and falling. 

Right ahead and to the left are those bay windows, open wide to let in the brilliant blaze of the evening sun. To the right is a huge, heavy curtain that’s surely revealing a wonderful surprise for the patrons. 

Soon, Ms. Luanne Griffons comes into the room with her assistants and she and they are as beautiful and radiant as ever in righteous rags for the Hennessy’s special occasion. Ms. Luanne gives her trademark welcome and greeting filled with warmth and enthusiasm. And, as usual, she’s met with equal warmth and enthusiasm in everyone’s applause and laughter. 

“Well!” Ms. Luanne claps her hands. “Without further ado, for those who want to go ahead and start steppin’…” 

A live jazz band comprised of six members enters the ballroom. Even before they settle at the front of the room to start playing, the huge crowd of patrons is roaring with renewed excitement. 

Ms. Luanne grins and gestures to the huge curtained area. “And for those who want to go ahead and start collarin’ a hot…” 

The curtain is pulled back to reveal two full buffet tables brimming with food that’s more than worthy of a ballroom dinner party in Harlem. The buffet tables are attended to by beaming servers that look twice as eager to dish out the food as the patrons are to eat it. 

Beyond the buffet tables are the tables with their designated reservations atop them. 

“Sweet Lord h’mercy”, a woman breathes near James and Anthony. 

“Everyone, please enjoy yourselves and, again, _thank you_ for making the Hennessy Ballroom’s premiere dinner party the greatest it could ever be!” Ms. Luanne says. 

And without further ado, the jazz band kicks off a number that’s absolutely perfect for spinning and Lindy Hopping. About half of the people immediately break away from the main crowd to dance and the remaining crowd forms a line at the buffet tables. 

James and Anthony join the line, grinning at each other as they anticipate being able to burn the food off doing clumsy Lindy Hops and waltzes. 

Anthony forces himself to get fried chicken because, goddammit it’s _delicious_ and he needs to practice being able to eat it. 

But really, just about all of Harlem’s food is delicious and rich. So, so fucking _rich_ and he needs to practice with all of it. 

With their plates piled high with food and a glass of sparkling champagne each in their hands, they find their table. All of the tables are round with stark white table cloths, and sport a little lamp and a vase of fresh flowers in their center. The chairs are plush and slide easily for those that want to get up quickly and join the animated dancing. 

James and Anthony sit side-by-side and eat in companionable silence. They enjoy the celebratory atmosphere made up of the scent and taste of delicious food, the upbeat jazz music, the people chattering and eating all around them, and the people dancing up a storm several feet away. Everything and everyone only look even more beautiful with the setting sun casting its final blaze on them. 

It’s a wonderful kick to start off a wonderful evening for them, except…

“ _Shit_ ”, Anthony hisses lowly as yet another string of cheese falls off the bottom of his spoon and lands on his chin instead of inside his mouth. 

His mouth. 

Where food is supposed to go. 

He feels like a damned pig as he wipes at his chin (and the top of his button-down) for the fourth time. At this rate, he’ll have to get up for another napkin and, if tonight is really unlucky, he’ll have to button up his jacket to hide the stains on his shirt. 

James glances at him and winces. Voice holding not an ounce of disgust, he asks, “Tones, you want some help with that? There’s a trick to eatin’ it, y’know.” 

Anthony, struggling not to blush out of sheer embarrassment, glances back at James. “I’m sorry I’m so uncouth here. But, n-no, I got it. I’ll figure it out…” 

He knows that mac n’ cheese is supposed to be cheesy, but… _damn_. No matter how much and how high he lifts his spoon from the rich golden mass, strings and strings of deliciously hot, melted cheese follow the eating utensil. _How_ in the hell does one get so much cheese packed into mac n’ cheese? Anthony is damn near about to give up before he embarrasses himself further. 

But James only chuckles and gently nudges him with his elbow. 

“It’s a’ight. Really. Here now, watch me.” 

Anthony watches carefully as James puts down the spoon that he was using to eat his sweet potato pie and picks up his fork. James uses the fork- _the fork_ -to tuck into his own mac n’ cheese. He spears some of the noodles, pulls it up from the rest of the mass, twirls the fork so that the strings of cheese are wrapped closely around the tines, and then pops it in his mouth without any problems. 

He swallows and winks at the other man. He does it a second time with just as much ease and flourish. “See? Jus’ twirl the cheese strings ‘round your fork like pasta, y’know? This way, your chin an’ your shirt ain’t stealing food from your mouth.” 

“ _Thanks_ , Rhodey!” Anthony says as he immediately picks up his fork and moves to copy him. 

“Sure, Tony!” 

And, indeed, the mac n’ cheese goes right in his mouth, strings and all. 

“By the way, honey bear, you look _beautiful_ tonight”, Anthony compliments. 

Anthony can _feel_ James flushing beside him and a sheepish, but bright, smile comes to James’ face. 

“Oh, thanks, Tones! I, uhh…this is my very first time wearing a tux, y’know?” Another ounce of sheepishness comes to that smile and James tugs a little on his collar. “I was…worried if you’d like it or not-”

The other man nearly chokes on a bite of fried chicken. He stares disbelievingly at James. “James, really? Why the _fuck_ wouldn’t I love to see you in a tuxedo? Hell, I think you’re gorgeous period and I love seeing you _period_. Don’t you ever think that I don’t, understand?” 

“Aww, well, thanks, Tony. Thanks a whole lot. ‘M happy that you like it”, James says, a warm flush blooming up his neck. 

Anthony smiles softly. “And it’s comfy enough on you, yeah? It fits just right?” 

“Oh, for sure!” James assures him. “It’s totally comfortable.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

By the time they’re done eating, the band has moved to a slow waltz. A general murmur of approval sounds throughout the ballroom; dancers steadily slow down until they’re gently swaying and stepping to the airy, twinkling rhythm. 

Anthony dabs at his mouth, and then extends his hand to James. “Mr. Rhodes, I believe this is my dance. Would you do me the honor?” 

James raises an incredulous eyebrow at him as he finishes off his champagne. When he puts it down, he gives Anthony a cursory look. “Hmmm…I dunno. Why you wanna dance with me when you got that big ol’ cheese stain on your shirt to dance with, huh?” 

“W-what?!” Anthony quickly looks down at himself…

…And finds that the “big ol’ cheese stain” is actually just a few, teeny discolorations that no one is going to see without looking very, very closely. 

He looks back at James with a dryly unamused look. James is quietly snickering behind his napkin. 

Anthony adjusts his glasses and pretends to take a deep, harsh breath born of annoyance. “…James. I knew this night was supposed to be fun for us, but I didn’t think it was going to fun because you’d start fucking with me before we’ve even danced. I didn’t think you’d start that shit.” 

James, still clutching his napkin to his mouth, gasps, “What? I can’t go’n and get a head start jus’ to see what we both come up with tonight? What’s wrong with that, huh? I jus’ don’ like to _procrastinate_ , Tones.” 

“…I’ll get you back.” 

“I _await_ you.” 

“You won’t for long.” 

“Good.” 

James chuckles and then clears his throat and looks back at Anthony. “Yes, Mr. Carbonell, I would be glad to do you the honor of dancing with you.” 

Anthony’s eyes twinkle behind his glasses. He stands up and offers James his hand. “Great! I may just be able to get you back while we whirl around!” 

James winks as he slips his hand into the other man’s and walks with him to the lively dancefloor.

They take their sweet time finding a space and getting into the closing position…and then they’re smoothly whirling on the dancefloor, too. 

The live band soon takes a break to indulge in the buffet. And so one of the assistants comes to play the one and only Lady Day’s _Body and Soul_ loud and clear on the phonograph to a chorus of general approval. 

_My days have grown so lonely_  
_For you I cry, for you dear only_  
_Why haven't you seen it_  
_I'm all for you body and soul_

Several couples go from waltzing across the ballroom floor to gently, slowly swaying in their own spaces. James and Anthony are one of these couples. 

James smiles and obliterates Anthony by resting his head on his shoulder as they sway. Anthony can’t help but turn his head and rest it atop James’. They sigh collectively in contentment. 

“Hey, Tony?” James asks. 

“Yeah, Rhodey?” Anthony replies. 

“You’re smellin’ like that wonderful pine again. All nice an’ tart.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that your favorite scent of mine?” 

He feels James nod on his shoulder. “Sure is. You, uhh…mind wearing it more often? It’s just so incredible.” 

“Not at all! I’ll be sure to wear it around you from now on. How’s that?” 

“Yeah, that works. Thanks, Tony!” 

“Any time, honey bear. Any time.” 

-

Every last bit of American cabaret comes from France. 

And most of that French-born American cabaret has flourished into performances of jazz music and dances to stand-up comedies and piano playing. America has taken on traditional French cabaret and adapted it to be its own. 

Still, there are quite a few cabaret clubs throughout the country that maintain the traditional French styles and performances…and parts of 126th Street of Harlem holds quite a few of those. The tricky part, though, is that these cabaret clubs are often quite a bit more expensive than the Americanized ones. 

So James doesn’t know what in all the hell he’s doing stopping Tony in the middle of the street to stare longingly at the Chez de Baudelaire. 

The petite, two-story club’s light-beige bricks are just as much alight and glowing as the rest of Harlem in the prime of nightlife, as dusk has fallen. Right smack in the middle of two windows from the first floor and two from the second floor is the club’s name- _Chez de Baudelaire_ -in thin, black block letters that are lit from behind. The windows have their maroon curtains pulled back to show the joyous happenings inside and splash the club’s share of light onto the sidewalks. Every last windowsill holds a vibrant bed of flowers ranging in all different types from bright pink cherry blossoms and stark white peonies to dark-red lilies and lavender begonias. On either side of its wide-open double doors are smiling ushers waving new patrons inside. 

Over the buzzing chatter and laughter of the people inside, one can hear several French horns playing a cheery, upbeat tempo. It takes just one deep inhale to fill lungs with the delicious, hearty scents of beignets and crepes whose recipes are straight up from the Big Easy herself. 

James has always wanted to go inside. Just to see what it’s like, just to try his hand at broadening his horizons. And besides, the Chez de Baudelaire is one of the smaller, sister clubs of the upcoming Silver Curtain in that they are adamantly not segregated. 

But it’s still too goddamned expensive. 

Anthony watches James stare at the Baudelaire and his face brightens. 

He squeezes James’ hand and jerks his head towards the club. “You wanna go in?” 

James’ eyes snap over to the other man. “Wha…? Oh, yeah, I’d love to someday! It looks really-”

“No, no, honey bear”, Anthony says. “I mean today. Tonight. Why not?” 

James blinks slowly at him. He speaks just as slowly. “…Tony. It’s too expensive.” 

“I’ll get it this time, Rhodey! You got our reservations at the Hennessy-”

“Uh, no. I got _half_ of our Hennessy reservations and either way, the Baudelaire is jus’ too pricey-”

“Well, not for me it isn’t! C’mon, I’m telling you I got it, so I got it-”

“No, it’ll be too much. Way too much-”

“How is it gonna be too much? It’s our big, big night out together! Let’s have as much fun as possible-”

“Within a _budget_. Y’know? Ever heard of ‘have fun within a _budget_ ’ ‘cause-”

“Yeah, but it’s _my_ budget we’re talking about right now, Rhodey! It’s-”

“Your budget ain’ _mine_ , though!” 

“Oh c’mon, just pool with me for once!” 

“Dammit, Tony! We can’t-”

“Y’know what? You go on and keep arguing with me while I walk us into those doors. Just knock yourself out, ‘kay? ‘Kay.” 

And with that, Anthony keeps a firm hold on James’ hand and pulls him all the way up the sidewalk and towards the club. 

James, a huge, disbelieving grin on his face, tries to tug Anthony back. “No, Tones, _no!_ Wait!” 

Anthony doesn’t stop walking, but glances back at James, an even bigger grin on his face. “ _Yes!_ ” 

“ _No_ , oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Look, just think of this as repayment for teaching me how to eat mac n’ cheese without making a goddamned messy fool of myself.” 

“B-but, Tony! You ain’ gotta-you’re bein’ disingenuous now! This ain’ about fuckin’ mac n’ cheese!” James laughs, still full of disbelief. 

Anthony pulls him into the entering crowd and winks. “Well, I didn’t say it _was_ about mac n’ cheese; I just told you to think of it as such. So, really, who’s being disingenuous here?” 

James slowly shakes his head and lifts his free hand to massage at his forehead. “…You are jus’ so…I can’t even with you righ’ now…” 

“Just think ‘mac n’ cheese’, Rhodey-the mac n’ cheese.” 

James can only keep shaking his head and grinning in response. 

And Anthony is still jovial when they finally reach the doors. 

“Hi!” He chirps to one of the smiling ushers as they walk past. “It’s our big, special night together!” 

The usher laughs in response and waves them inside. 

And with that, Anthony is pulling James into the Chez de Baudelaire. 

James can’t help but look all around in awe. Above their heads are dozens of dainty, golden pendant lights providing warm illumination. The blue-and-beige checkered floor is speckled and smooth. Every last small, round table is made of dark polished wood and designed for occupants to be able to sit especially close together. In the center of each table is a little arrangement of a delicate, domed lantern surrounded by much the same flowers to be found on the windowsills. 

Two ornate staircases on the far sides of the club provide both a decorative flanking for the club’s first floor and lead to the second floor. The second floor is mostly a huge, huge balcony over which patrons can watch the entertainment below. 

At the very front of the club is a raised dais from which the melody of the French horns sounds; a four-band ensemble plays for the current intermission while the curtain stays closed behind them. 

Anthony, still grinning, pulls James straight up the stairs and to a table very, very close to the balcony rails. He pulls James’ chair out for him and James, still in a daze, slowly sits down. Anthony sits down next to him. 

A mutual thrill rushes through their bodies as their thighs brush under the small table. 

James squeezes the other man’s hand and speaks in a low voice. “Tony…this is beyond ridiculous. I can’t even…” 

Anthony squeezes his hand back and scoots even closer. “I know it’s a lot to you, but just enjoy yourself, ‘kay?” 

“Yeah, it _is_ a lot to me. I mean, why are you…?” 

“Because I like you. Very much. I like it when you enjoy things and I like it even more when I can enjoy those things with you. So just indulge me this one time?” 

“…Tony, we’re both pretty sure that this ain’ gonna be jus’ ‘one time’ with you.” 

“Okay, but we can pretend that this is just one time, huh, Rhodey?” 

“…You are a mess. Just a mess, I swear to god.” 

Anthony winks again. “Yeah, but I’m _your_ mess, right?” 

James laughs a genuine laugh, but as he looks at Anthony, there’s…something softer there. Something warmer there. 

And in that look, Anthony once again feels probed straight through, stripped straight down, and _seen_ by James Rhodes to the point where he may as well not even be wearing his disguise at all. 

Once again, Anthony can’t feel alarmed at just how difficult it is to hide from James Rhodes. 

James gently moves their joined hands to where they’re resting atop his thigh. Voice just as gentle, he says, “Yeah, you are.” 

They (once again) smile stupidly at each other until the waiter comes to take their order. 

“Good evening, sirs!” He says as he sets coasters and menus down in front of them. His eyes zero in on their joined hands and dreamy gazes. “Is this a special occasion? Perhaps an anniversary?” 

James and Anthony share a long, long look. 

“Uhh…” 

“Umm…” 

Anthony is the first to recover. He gives a lopsided smile to the waiter. “Well, we’re, uhh…this is our first big date night together. Does that count?” 

The man beams at them. “Indeed it does, young sirs! For your celebration tonight, may I suggest the _Altesse Blanche_?” 

Anthony can sense James’ sheepish confusion and so he casually asks, “Oh, yeah, that’s that really good Savoy white wine? Nice and dry, too? Heard great things about it!” 

“Correct! Will that suffice?” 

When Anthony turns to see if James agrees, James nods and looks much, much more comfortable. 

“Uh huh. That sounds pretty good”, he says. 

The waiter nods and leaves them to fetch their order. 

“Thanks for that”, James whispers. 

“Oh, no problem, bumblebee. I mean, wine and the like isn’t everyone’s forte.” 

They spend the next several seconds smiling stupidly at each other again. 

The next show still has yet to start when their waiter comes back with their wine. 

“Do enjoy, sirs”, he says as he pours them each a generous glass from the bottle. 

“Thanks, we will!” They say. 

They laugh as they toast their night together, and then James takes the first sip. 

“Mmmm…tastes like a whopping three dollars of illegal.” He smacks his lips. “Tasty!” 

Anthony snickers over his own wineglass. “But ‘three dollars of illegal’ that’s worth it, right, Rhodey?” 

“Absolutely!” 

At that moment, the ensemble move to either side of the stage and the curtain is drawn to reveal a team of tap dancers made of two Black women and one Black man draped down in stylish, bright blue tuxedos. They wave to the club, which erupts into anticipatory cheers and applause. 

James nearly chokes on his tasty glass of illegal and Anthony nearly spills his as they both lean forward. 

“ _Ohh!_ ” They both exclaim.

The tap dancing team starts off with a rousing acapella dance before the band joins in to embellish their rhythm. The band soon picks up at an even higher, faster tempo and the dancers effortlessly keep their feet moving in sync while weaving into circular and triangular formations. 

When the performance is done, James and Anthony join the rest of the club in a standing ovation. 

And later, when the next performance, an airy, twinkling rendition of Josephine’s _J'ai Deux Amours_ ends, they just as happily join that resulting standing ovation, too. 

-

“…I think somebody owes somebody else an apology.” 

“Oh yeah? An’ who might those somebodies be, hmm?” 

James and Anthony decided to forgo getting a second dessert at the High Oyster for the moment to simply take in the fresh, fragrant air of 126th Street. Their hands remain interlocked and they swing them between their bodies. They window shop from the sidewalk in-between their leisurely strolling. 

“Well, you see, the first somebody just _might_ be a regular guy simply trying to treat someone that he cares about a lot. And that second somebody-the one the regular guy cares about-just _might_ be the one that was being difficult even though he had all the fun in the world with the first guy.” 

James purses his lips and looks up to the Harlem night sky in mock contemplation. “Huh. Sounds like quite a pair, ehh? But ‘M afraid they don’ ring a single bell, Tones.” 

“Now that’s too bad!” Anthony pretends to lament. “I mean, here I would’ve thought they would’ve sounded intimately familiar to you! Y’know, ring several bells for you!” 

“Aw, I know, Tones. I know. But it’s that second guy that jus’ doesn’t ring a bell”, James says. “‘Cause, see, I think that was the guy that was just worried about a club being too expensive, _plus_ he never even said he ain’ never had fun in that club or that he wasn’t ever goin’ to anyway.” 

“No, but that guy _was_ being needlessly difficult to the point where the first guy had to drag him into the club in the first place-”

“Uh, no. He wasn’ being ‘needlessly difficult’. He was just being pragmatic ‘cause he lives on a budget-”

“And the first guy did say that he got the bill. And he _did_ get the bill, so-”

“But the other guy still impressed the shit outta himself when he didn’t drop right to the floor from how high that bill was-”

“He would’ve caught him, if that was the case-”

“I have no doubt about that…but it still don’ change the numbers on that check-”

“Except the numbers on that check are currently ‘zero’ because the regular guy got them-”

James stops walking and turns to face Anthony with a raised eyebrow and a dry smirk. Anthony copies him, but with both eyebrows raised and a mischievous smile. Their hands stay joined. 

“…This is you fuckin’ with me, huh? You’re gettin’ back at me”, James says. 

“Well, you did tell me that you were awaiting me, Rhodey.” Anthony turns his smile into a pout. “And I’d like to think of myself as someone that doesn’t keep someone waiting for too long, y’know?” 

James chuckles and then sighs. “Yeah, okay, okay. I get it. I was worryin’ for nothin’, huh? _Thank you_ , Tony. That was wonderful. It really was.” 

Anthony searches the other man’s face, eyes soft and imploring. “Really? You mean it? I just…Rhodey, I truly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all. I just wanted…” 

Anthony trails off, certain that he won’t be able to articulate just how much the other man’s joy and happiness means to him tonight or any other night. 

But James squeezes his hand and smiles with that warm patience. Voice soft, he reassures him, “Yeah, Tones. I know-believe me, I do know. I appreciate it deeply and I feel the exact same way about you, too. Believe that, y’hear?” 

“I do, Rhodey. I do.” Anthony smiles. 

“So, you uh…ready to get some dessert at the High Oyster? I know we had that wine and a few beignets at the Baudelaire”, James says. “But you _gotta_ have some of the Oyster’s scones and coffee with me.”

Anthony’s eyes shine. “No need to convince me! Coffee and scones sound perfect right about now!” 

James’ eyes shine right back. “Great! And you gotta let me get it this time, too!” 

“Alright, alright; this one is yours, honey bear.” 

James grins and they stroll on their way to the High Oyster. 

-

“Oh my fucking _god_ ”, Anthony moans over his cup of coffee. 

James swallows his bite of chocolate chip scone and beams. “ _Right?!_ ” 

“Right, left, up, down, sideways, backwards…holy _shit_ , this coffee is to die for either way”, Anthony sighs. 

“It is”, James agrees as he lifts his own cup for yet another sip. “It really fuckin’ is.” 

Anthony all but gulps down his coffee. “I’m so sorry, Rhodey. But I think I adore this more than I adore you. The scones are a close second, though. If that makes you sad, I’m sorry but you have no one to blame but yourself; you’re the one that wanted to come here.” 

“…How you gon’ love a cup of coffee more than me? Even if you keep refilling it, a cup of coffee eventually goes empty, but ‘M here forever”, James retorts. 

“Okay, you know what? I’m so in love with this shit right now that I don’t have a coherent answer to that”, Anthony replies. “But just know that I care more about this cup of coffee more than I care about you.” 

“Uh huh. Sure.” 

“Yep.” 

-

By the time they leave the High Oyster, still laughing and teasing, it’s very, very late into the night. Most establishments are still open, but a great many are just an hour or so away from closing up shop.  
And hell, James and Anthony can already feel the foggy beginnings of tiredness in their bodies that’s only diminished by the coffee they drank and the sugary treats they ate. Both young men have a sense that perhaps it’s time to wrap it up and call it a night, but…

“Tony?” 

“Yeah, Rhodey?” 

“This is _fun._ ” 

“It sure is!” 

“And I…kinda don’t want tonight to end. I don’t want you to go”, James softly admits. 

“Oh, I don’t want to go and I don’t want tonight to end, either”, Anthony admits just as softly. “So…you wanna pick something else to do? The night’s not exactly, uh, young anymore, but we can still do something else-anything you want.” 

“Ah, ah, ah! _You_ pick something to do, a place to go this time, Tony.” 

Anthony leans back a bit. “M-me? My choice?” 

“Uh huh! I mean, just about every time we’ve gone out bailin’ together, most of the places that we went were mutual or exclusively my pick. So it’s far past time for it to be your choice and your choice alone, Tones-so you pick the place this time.” 

Anthony opens his mouth, about to protest against _every_ place they’ve been to be a mutual choice or only James’ choice. But he closes it quickly as he realizes that James is indeed right. 

“Hmm…my pick this time…” Anthony’s eyes look up to the sky in deep contemplation. 

“Yep. Any place you want”, James says, patient as ever. 

Anthony thinks at the sky for only a few moments more, and then his gaze drifts back down to the other man. And when he’s looking deep into those diaspores, he knows where he wants to take James. 

He knows what he wants to share with James. 

“Alright, Rhodey. I got an idea. But it’s a surprise! You trust me?” 

“Oh, a surprise? Well, sure! ‘Course I trust you!” 

Anthony grins and hails a taxi. 

When they slide into the backseat, he whispers to the driver the destination. The driver takes one look at the two men in his rearview mirror, smiles, and pulls back into traffic. 

-

James looks at where the taxi has taken them. 

The Brooklyn Bridge. 

He looks questioningly at Anthony, who only holds his hand out for James to take. He easily slips his hand into the other man’s and they step onto the bridge. 

They stroll softly down the bridge, hand-in-hand.

Anthony is quiet and somber. 

So James stays quiet and somber. 

And all around them, at this hour, the Brooklyn Bridge is just as quiet and somber as they are. 

Of the very, very few other people here, less than a handful spare a glance at the two of them. Light, cool breezes waft up to them from the East River below and after their long night of rush and excitement in Harlem, they’re deeply welcome and refreshing. In those breezes, they can feel the very last of spring mildness before it will be summer warmth in just a few weeks. Above them, the bridge’s mighty steel cables appear to stretch up, up, up until they reach and touch the stars. 

It’s easier to see the stars here on the bridge more than just about any other place in New York City. The bridge’s illumination is bright enough for pedestrians and drivers alike to safely see and travel, but soft enough not to cancel out the natural light high, high in the sky. 

The stars and their natural light in the sky…a rare, oft forgotten treat for many a native New Yorker. 

And it is that rare, oft forgotten treat that James and Anthony stop to indulge in. 

Anthony stops them when they’re just about in the middle of the bridge. He pulls them to where they can comfortably lean their arms, hands still joined, on the railing and look out and up at the sky. The sight really is a thing of ethereal beauty when coupled with the cables. And when their necks get tired from gazing upwards, they gaze down to look out over the East River. The water is still and deep and quiet, a smoothly reflecting-blanket in which the bridge stands. 

It is quiet. 

Anthony finally explains what they’re doing here. 

Voice soft, he confesses, “I come here…when I’m sad. Or sometimes not even when I’m sad, but just when I need some time alone to myself.” 

James’ voice is just as soft, if not softer. “Oh yeah?” 

“Uh huh.” He forces himself to meet James’ compassionate, curious eyes. “I…I first came here when my mom died. I mean, my dad died with her, too. At the same time. But I was always closer to my mom.” 

“Oh, Tones. I am _so_ sorry”, James breathes. 

James squeezes his hand and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. Anthony takes deep, deep strength from the comforting touch and, after a deep breath, he continues. 

“Aw, it’s alright. It…it was a car crash that took Mom away. A really nasty one. It was raining. Technically no one’s fault, really. I guess…maybe because it was no one’s fault that’s what made it just that much harder to swallow. Shit, it’s been longer than a while and it’s _still_ hard to swallow.” 

“Yeah, I can get that”, James assures him. “You’re hurting and angry and scared and shocked and…not really any earthly target to direct that at. I felt jus’ about the same way when I lost my mom.” 

“Exactly. And…well, I should admit that I actually _ran_ here when I first got the news that she went in a fucking car crash. I guess I just needed the world to stop, maybe even disappear for a while. And so I just ran here and…it kinda does feel like the world stops and disappears around here at this time, doesn’t it?”

James nods as he looks all around them. “Oh yeah, I can see that for sure.” 

Anthony smiles a soft, sad smile. 

It’s quiet again for another while. They look again at the cables. At the stars. At the river. At each other. 

James is the one to break the silence this time. 

“…So you come here when you’re sad and/or when you want to be left alone”, James quietly ponders. 

“I do”, Anthony replies. 

“Are you…feeling that right now? Is that why we’re here?” 

Anthony holds James’ gaze and speaks the truth. “Not at all. I don’t feel like that right now. I can’t when I’m with you. Not even anything close to it.” 

“I just…very, very few people know that I come here and I wanted you to be one of those few”, Anthony explains. “I wanted to share this with you.” 

James smiles at the revelation, and then closes his eyes and leans forward until his forehead rests against the other man’s. Anthony, heart pounding up into his chest for the nth time since they’ve met, closes his eyes, too. 

James whispers, “Then thank you for sharing this with me, Tony. I don’t feel any kinds of bad with you, either.” 

“No, thank _you_ for letting me share it with you”, Anthony insists. 

It’s quiet again. 

And warm. 

They eventually turn so that it’s the sides of their heads that are resting against each other. The grey of pre-dawn is coming. 

“Hey, guess what?” James soon quietly asks. 

“What?” Anthony asks just as quietly. 

“…I got a song in my head just now. It’s kinda…a cheery one. Or ‘least a hopeful one, I’d say.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Uh huh. Wanna know what it is?” 

“I most certainly do, snickerdoodle.” 

James earns a giggle from the other man by dramatically clearing his throat first. He then sings in an obnoxious, wildly off-key imitation of Josephine’s trilling soprano. “ _J’ai deux amours_ , uhhh… _par eux tojours_ …and, umm…” 

Anthony bursts into snickers, perfectly aware that James is trying to get him to laugh, trying to get him away from grieving thoughts about his mother. “Oh, okay, but _I’m_ the fucking mess out of the two of us? Oh my god, Rhodey!” 

“Oh, c’mon, now! Help me out here! I got a song in my head an’ I wanna get it out! Need your help, Tones! C’mon!” James pleads. 

The other man, still snickering, rolls his eyes up to the sky in thought. He slowly shakes his head as he struggles to grasp the combination of French and Josephine’s trilling singing voice. When he thinks he has some of it, he clears his throat just as dramatically as James did (and earning a laugh from James in the process), and starts, “ _Ma Coeur_ -no, wait- _mon coeur est_ …uhh…shit…” 

“ _Est la…ravi_?” James supplies. 

“Yeah, something like that!” Anthony says. “Then it’s… _Ma belle est savane…_?”

“Oh, no, no! I think you got that one mixed up.” James clears his throat again and then poorly imitates an even higher, more trilling soprano with a dramatic wave of his free hand. “ _Ma savane est belle!_ ”

Anthony trills right back at him, “ _Mais a qu’au_ -no, shit, that’s not it. Ummm… _Mais a quoi bon…_ ”

“ _Le noir…_ or… _le nier_!” 

“ _Ce qui m’onserelle…_?” 

“I think it might be…uhhh… _Ce qui m’oncesse_ …?”

“Maybe, ummm… _Ce qui m’oncerello_?” 

“I don’ think there’s any ‘ello’ kinda word in French, Tones. Sounds too…Italian or some shit.” 

“Well then, what the hell is that ‘m’ word, then? It’s such a long-ass word!” 

“Hmm…maybe it’s two fuckin’ words?” 

“ _M’enceller_?” 

“ _M’enceelore_?” 

They keep trying to reiterate the correct word that starts with ‘m’, but they soon dissolve into such breathless laughter that they can’t continue. 

“Oh my _god_ , we sound terrible. We are fucking _butchering_ the French language!” James exclaims. 

“Well, you started it!” Anthony exclaims back. 

“I ain’ said it was a bad thing, though!” 

Anthony will soon be unable to breathe from how hard he’s laughing and James is in much the same predicament. “It _is_ a bad thing because we really do sound terrible! I hope Ms. Josephine never hears us or we’ll both die from embarrassment!”

“Well, actually…if she ever does hear us, I’ll just blame it all on you. I’ll tell her that since you know your French wines, so you should know your French languages.”

“…You are a horrific human being, James Rhodes”, Anthony says slowly. “Just gonna throw me to the sharks like that, hmm? Throw me to the mercy of Ms. Josephine Baker? And it’s not like I’m fully-versed in French wine anyway!”

“But you’re versed enough to have us drinkin’ three dollars of illegal an’ then play it like I said I ain’ enjoyed it!” 

“ _Oh_ , you’re bringing that back now, huh?” Anthony leans slightly away. 

James leans back, too. “Well, you’re the one that brought it back first! Always talkin’ ‘bout me startin’ mess!” 

“Because you do!” 

“So do you!” 

“You do it worse than I do!” James accuses. 

“I do not! You’re worse!” “Anthony retorts. 

“Am not!” 

“Are too!” 

“Am not!” 

“Are too!” 

They soon dissolve into laughter once more. 

-

They’re still butchering the French language and Josephine’s high, trilling soprano by the time a taxi drops them off back in East Harlem. And they’re still going at it as Anthony walks James to his apartment complex and up the stairs. 

James wears Anthony’s leather jacket warm and close over his shoulders. Though the other man is walking right beside him, James draws the jacket close, reveling in the scent of pine and the feeling of being wholly surrounded by Anthony. 

“Okay, okay!” Anthony pleads. “Let’s…let’s try to take it from the top however we can! From the top!” 

“The top? A’ight, here I go”, James agrees. He sings in that ridiculous off-key soprano again. “ _On dit quand del_ …uhhh…your turn.” 

Anthony clears his throat and tries, “ _Dela des mers_ … _La-bas soir le ces clair_!” 

James giggles and continues, “ _Il existe une ces_!” 

They slow down their walk before completely stopping and James looks up to see why. He blinks when he sees the door they’ve stopped in front of. 

“Oh…” He says with a lingering tinkle of merriment in his voice. “Oh yeah, this is me. I live here.” 

Anthony looks at the door as well and grins. “Indeed, Rhodey, this _does_ look like the door of your apartment.” 

They share a laugh. 

“Ahh, Tony”, James sighs. “I really had _so much_ fun tonight. I can’t even tell you how much. 

“ _Me too_. Honey bear, this has seriously been one of the best nights I’ve ever had in my life. Thank you so much for making it so.” 

“Well, y’know, that sentiment is mutual, Tones. Completely mutual.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

James steps closer. “So, uhh…do this again? I’ll be able to see you again? Even if it’ll take another week?” 

Anthony steps closer, too. “No, no, honey bear. I’m pretty sure it won’t take another whole week before I see you again. I’ll do my best to get as much work done as possible so that’s not the case again, ‘kay?” 

Just the slightest tremor of anxiety goes through James at the idea of not being able to see Tony for another, entire week yet again. He really, really does miss him when he’s gone for that long. But if not being able to see Tony for that long will mean that Tony didn’t overwork himself, then James can force himself to be patient. 

A teeny voice at the back of his mind chastises him for being so silly because they really did just have a long, incredible night together. Besides, Tony is _here_. Now. 

But James…James wants to feel that he’s here. Really, really feel that he’s here and that, for the moment, he’s not going anywhere at all. 

That slight tremor ebbs away as his hands slide up Tony’s chest to rest right over his heart. James feels that strong, steady pounding beneath his palms and the rest of those tremors completely fade far, far away. 

Voiced dropped to a whisper, James says, “Well, it’s alrigh’ if you can’t. Ain’ gonna blow my top. Besides, I don’ want you to overwork yourself. Like I said: promise me you’ll try to be careful and pace yourself, hear?” 

It’s barely a thought before Anthony lifts his own hands to cover James’. He’s hyperaware of his heart beating with strength, with rhythm under James’ hands and he wonders if he could add ten years to his life if he could always have his heart beating while it’s tucked warm and safe under James’ hands. 

Anthony doesn’t want it to take yet another week for them to see each other, either. He doesn’t want his work to pile up and up and up until James is farther and farther and farther away. But he can hardly deny James anything, let alone a promise that he already made to him. 

Then within mere seconds, it’s suddenly not enough for Anthony to touch James’ hands on his chest. It’s not enough at all. Anthony’s hands slide up James’ arms to brush over his shoulders until they finally, tenderly cup his jaw. He lets his fingers carefully stroke down the impossibly smooth, warm skin of James’ throat until he can feel James’ pulse thrumming at the hollow of his neck, right underneath the collar of his leather jacket. That pulse is just as strong and just as steady and just as much _here_ as Anthony’s own heartbeat. 

His own voice a whisper, too, he reassures James, “Yeah. I promise, honey bear.” 

James smiles and Anthony can’t help but slide his hands upward to gently cup James’ jaw. He brushes his thumbs over James’ cheeks where he can feel the stretch of that bright, gorgeous smile that he’s come to so deeply seek and adore. His thumbs brush over the strong arch of James’ cheekbone with a butterfly’s touch and he can further feel the stretch of that smile. 

And one of James’ hands leaves Anthony’s chest to feel his heartbeat thrumming in his neck, too. As he’s wearing Anthony’s jacket, there’s nothing but the collar of the other man’s button-down between him and his pulse. Thus, James’ fingers touch on the bare skin of Anthony’s neck and collarbone and a soothing thrill rushes through him at how warm and vital the flesh under his fingers feel. Anthony’s eyes shutter for a moment, and a smile stretches his own face. 

Neither one of them remember when exactly they stepped that much closer to each other that there’s barely any space left between them. 

They only know that they don’t want any space between them anyway. 

It’s James’ turn for his eyes to shutter as his smile widens. “Promise-promise, though?” 

Anthony nods, careful not to dislodge James’ hand on him. “Uh huh. Promise-promise.” 

Their eyes flutter closed as they find themselves resting their foreheads against each other again. 

And from their foreheads, they rest their noses…

…And from their noses, they rest their lips.

At first, it’s the gentlest of presses, the lightest of feathery touches. But there’s been something magical, something _true_ for them tonight and that magical truth tells them to press their lips together in a stronger, deeper kiss and so they do. 

As they kiss, James’ hand on Anthony’s chest moves up to grasp his shoulder at the same time that his other hand slides into the silky black mass of his hair peeking out from under his flat cap. One of Anthony’s hands stays on James’ cheekbone while the other slips down to warmly encircle the firm dip of his waist. 

When they break apart, their breath is coming just a bit harder than before. They rest their noses against each other once more and feel their breaths mingle, hot and humid and calming. Anthony squeezes James closer by his waist and James lightly scratches at the base of Anthony’s scalp. 

Anthony opens his eyes and is the first to break the silence. He whispers, “…James?” 

James flips his eyes open as well. He whispers back, “Yeah, Tony?” 

And it’s melting blue steel and shimmering diaspores gazing into each other and they both soon forget what the hell words are. 

Anthony swallows and tries again while looking into those beautiful brown eyes that seem to make words dry up in his throat. “I…James, there’s…y’know, there’s so many things I…I need to tell you. There’s just everything to tell. I…” 

James smiles softly. “Oh, yeah? I sense that…with you. But like I said, maybe that’s shit I ain’ earned yet. So don’t worry; I don’ think tomorrow is goin’ anywhere and we got a lotta tomorrows for you to tell me whatever you need to tell me, y’hear?” 

“Really? A whole ‘lotta tomorrows’? You think so?” Anthony asks softly. 

“No-I know so. You an’ I got too much fucking around to do with each other for there not to be anymore. Just wouldn’ be right.” 

Anthony pretends to think for a moment. “Hmm. You’re right; plus, I got more nicknames for you. So yeah, we need time.” 

“See? Told you.” 

Their noses resting is becoming their lips touching again.

“Rhodey…?” 

“Hmmm, Tony?” 

Their eyes flutter back down and then they’re kissing again. It’s just as gentle, just as deep as before and twice as good because it’s their second time and they plan on having many, many more times after this. 

When they next break away, they’re smiling serenely at each other, eyes still melting and shimmering. 

“Call me when you can?” James breathes, his hand smoothing down the hair at the other man’s nape. 

Anthony nods as he brushes his thumb over James’ cheekbone. “Always, sunshine. As soon as I can. Promise-promise.” 

Grinning, they reluctantly pull away from each other. James bites his lip as he shrugs out of Anthony’s leather jacket and hands it back to him. 

“Thanks. That’s a nice-smellin’ jacket right there. Cozy, too.”

“No, thank you”, Anthony counters. He takes a deep, deep whiff and scents that Dapper Dan around the collar. “It’s like I’m going home with you, honey bear.” 

James bursts into snickers and rolls his eyes. “Oh my _god_ , I don’t even know if ‘mess’ covers it for you at this point.” 

Anthony winks. “Well, just like you said: we got a whole lotta tomorrows, so you’ll be able to find another word in time.” 

James laughs again. “Yeah. Well...I’ll see you soon. G’night, Tony.” 

Anthony nods and, because he can’t help himself, indulges in one last brush of his thumb over James’ cheekbone. “G’night, Rhodey.” 

-

Little Laura Jean is nine-years-old and one of the most adorable kids to sell newspapers in Harlem. Her dark-brown skin sports a rosy tint no matter if it’s sunny or cloudy. The two puffy braids her father makes every early morning are on both sides of her head and end in multicolored barrettes. In the bottom left pocket of her faded, blue overalls are the money and flowers passerby pays her with a smile. 

Her shoes scuff the pavement as she calls out, “Extra! Extra! Read all ‘bout it!” 

Ever since the radio came into existence, little Laura Jean has had more and more extra newspapers. 

But as much as James loves the radio, he’s never been one to pass up fresh-smelling newspapers from a sweet little girl. 

He hands little Laura Jean a whole dollar for a copy of the New York Amsterdam News and a copy of the New York Times and tells her to keep the change. She beams up at him with her two missing front teeth and thanks him. He beams right back and gives her a little head pat. 

When he gets back home, he settles down at his table with a cup of coffee and reads. He nearly skyrockets right out of his chair when he sees yet more news (by popular demand of the paper’s avid readers) about the Silver Curtain opening in June and he reminds himself to share the article with both Moni and Charles. And besides the booming nightlife, all is relatively regular and quiet in Harlem. 

James then picks up the New York Times and reads. Even when he’s on the second page, he sees that it’s about as regular and quiet in the other parts of town as they are in Harlem. He turns his attention to the third page-

An icy, treacherous chill runs down his spine and immobilizes him. 

At some point, James is aware that some feeling comes back to his fingers and they delicately touch the picture. Specifically, they touch the image of the tuxedo-wearing man that is featured alongside a woman he does not recognize. 

The man…doesn’t have Tony’s flat cap, glasses, and general casual clothing. 

But he has Tony’s eyes. Tony’s mustache. Tony’s jaw. Tony’s lips. Tony’s shock of black hair. 

Tony’s everything as far as physical features.

It’s all the same. The exact same. 

James’ eyes slowly take in the headline above the picture: _‘Anthony Stark & Lottie Roland Cozy Up at Mayor Epson’s Son’s Birthday Party’_. 

But that _smirk_. That entire _expression._

They reek of arrogance, of aloofness. 

Those are not the same. 

Those are not Tony Carbonell. 

That’s not the man he’s gotten so close, so fond of in such a short amount of time. 

That’s not the man he kissed in front of his apartment. 

That can’t be the man. 

Besides, a whole lot of White folks look the same-even someone as beautiful as Tony isn’t exempt from that. 

Anthony Stark…

A roil of nausea accompanies the chill down his spine. James loves the planes that Stark Industries puts out-a great many of them take up space in his aviation collection. And, as far as he’s paid attention, Anthony Stark successfully took over the company at a young age when his parents died and to this day SI is one of the most thriving, powerful Western companies after the Crash. More than a handful of people from Harlem have found ample employment and help from the company, too. 

But the man _himself_ has to be vapid, ignorant as hell, spoiled, selfish, and callously going through lovers like socks and underwear, just as he’s probably going to go through that Lottie Roland by nightfall. He’s someone that James wants and needs absolutely nothing to do with and most certainly vice versa. 

The mere thought that he’s been in close proximity with such a person makes bile rise into James’ throat and he swallows several times to keep it down. 

But that’s not Tony Carbonell at all. No…no, he’s not James’ Tony. He shakes his head to dispel the false image.

James keeps the New York Amsterdam News on his table and stuffs the other paper deep, deep into the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History notes time! 
> 
> Billie Holiday's _Body and Soul_ was [actually only written in 1930](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Body_and_Soul_\(1930_song\)), but not yet recorded and released. Still, I thought the song would go well with this fic and it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to include it, teehee! 
> 
> As always, lemme know what you think! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I am going to spoil about this chapter? We’ll finally see Monica perform! I wanted to show Monica perform in the SamSteve one, but I didn’t have time! Gah, the blasphemous injustice! But now I do have time and so here we are! Weeee!! 
> 
> Also? **LEMONADE!**
> 
> ...And yes, before anyone asks, I got the incredible misfortune to see Civil War last night. Ummm...yeah, I'm just burying myself in my fanfiction work. At least there's always fanfiction, yes? That's all I got to say as of right now. 
> 
> Okay, on with the chapter!

“A’ight, Ms. Monica Lynne! That was _perfect_ as usual!” Ms. Chaucer exclaims.

Ms. Chaucer joins the ringing enthusiastic applause from the other few people in the Silver Curtain. 

Mr. Bailey nods happily in agreement, a huge, huge smile on his face as he, too, claps. “You an’ that voice a’yours are brilliant! Just absolutely brilliant!” 

Crewmembers; fellow performers; chefs reviewing and collaborating over the menu; and James and Charles make up the people applauding Monica during rehearsal. The people of the Silver Curtain work individually or in their own little cloisters all around the club. Some crewmembers double-check the lights, while other crewmembers stand on tall, tall ladders on both the first and second floors to dust the currently-dimmed chandeliers above. The chefs pulled two tables together and sit near the front door as they diligently pour over dish and drink options to submit for final approval to Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey. Said co-owners themselves sit at one of the tables closest to the stage, from where Monica just finished performing her first song. And James and Charles relax at a table towards the middle of the floor. 

Monica can only grin and shyly shrug her shoulders as the applause continues. She’s been smiling practically all day and every single person in the club _loves_ it. When she meets her boys’ eyes, they alternate between clapping harder and giving her thumbs up and whistles. Monica’s smile grows even bigger and she winks back at them. 

Ms. Chaucer takes a sip of her coffee, and then says, “So onto rehearsing your next song! From the top, hmm?” 

Monica nods and, as the club falls silent for her and the band again, she weaves a slow, magical crescendo that fills the club all the way out to the very edges. 

“My Soulmate is just so amazing”, Charles quietly sighs as they watch and listen. “I’m so proud of and happy for her. I knew she’d always have her dream like this.” 

James grins and reaches over to squeeze Charles’ hand. “Me, too. You’re a lucky-luck guy, Charles. You both are. And jus’ think-it’s gonna be your turn soon, what with September comin’.” 

Charles smiles at the other man and squeezes his hand back. “Thanks, James. And Moni and I are lucky to have you as our best friend, in turn.” He winces slightly and shifts in his chair. “But I admit that I’m just as nervous as I am excited about starting my new job. I just…” 

“Hey, now. Moni’s fine, I’m fine-so _you’re_ gonna be just fine. I mean, you aced that interview-ain’ no reason you’re not gonna have a blast finally doing what you’ve always wanted, and then becoming an actual teacher. Ain’ no reason at all.” 

“Thanks again, James”, Charles sighs. 

James smiles. 

They settle back, relaxing into their chairs and watch and listen to Monica in silence again. 

Monica is trilling out a melisma when Charles glances at his friend and quietly asks, “But are _you_ alright, James? Right now?” 

James glances back, a crease in his brow. “Yeah. Why d’you ask?” 

“Well, it’s just that you seemed distracted all this morning.” 

James quickly hides a wince at that. For the nth time since yesterday morning that he sat at that table and opened that newspaper, he finds himself trying to blink away the image of that headline and picture. He hasn’t told Monica and Charles and he doesn’t think he plans on ever telling them. Hell, he’s barely even able to tell himself about it even though he’s the one that saw it. 

Besides, he’d much, much rather focus on remembering the kiss he shared with Tony anyway. 

“Yeah, ‘M okay, Charles”, James assures him. “Guess I’m just a lil tired and I’m nervous right alongside you an’ Moni.” 

Charles’ brow creases in concern. “Oh, do you want to go home and take a nap, then? You know Moni will understand and we-”

“No, no! Ain’ no need to leave!” James slouches a bit in his chair. “See? ‘M restin’ just fine right here!” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.”

Charles smiles, but then winces and shifts once more in his chair. 

A slow, slow grin spreads on James’ face. He asks, “…Is that your back that’s hurtin’ you, man?” 

Charles glances back at him, eyes taking on an adorable petulance behind his glasses. “Okay, Monica has obviously been quite a bit _happier_ as of late. Before you ask, the whole of Moni’s back is just fine and so is, uh...the rest of her. And _I_ can still move, dammit.” 

James snickers behind his hand. “Oh, there’s _movin’_ to be had, alrigh’. And I’m quite sure that Moni is ‘just fine’ and then some.” 

Charles starts snickering behind his hand, too. “Shut up, James.” 

“Yeah, Moni’s been so happy that she’s been gettin’ extra ground rations outta you, huh?” 

“…‘Extra, extra, _don’t_ read all about it’”, Charles says in a mock singsong voice. “…because I didn’t even get to finish reading my book before she pounced on me.” 

The two men burst into even harder snickers and they struggle to muffle it behind their hands. 

When James is sure he won’t just straight up cackle at Charles’ expense, he quietly gasps, “Your book suffered? Even your crossword puzzle?” 

“Even my crossword puzzle. She started on me at eight o’clock.” 

“Well, damn. That ain’ even ground rations; that’s just straight up jelly spilled out your jar, Charles. But Monica is happy and she’s gon’ _stay_ happy.” 

“You’re telling _me_.” Charles glances at James again and this time, his lips twist in half a pout and half a grin. “Uhh…you’re still sleeping, though, right? I mean-”

James quietly waves his best friend’s concern away. “Aw, I still manage to collar a nod. I didn’ even think that you two were doin’ it ‘till I guessed about your back. Ya’ll two have been going at it since we were sixteen-I can sleep jus’ fine by now.” 

“But are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Really.” 

They smile at each other and listen closer to Monica’s singing. 

James soon quietly broaches another topic. “And Moni and I know you been in that library for a good while nowadays.” 

Charles’ eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “Yeah? I love the library-I always have. What’s so wrong about that?” 

“What are you even readin’ this time around anyway?” James asks. 

“Well, what just about everyone else reads when they visit a library: books.” Charles winks at him. 

“And are the books you’re reading good?” 

“Very good, yes. I’ll recommend some of them to you later, if you like.” 

“Aw, great.” 

It’s then that Monica belts out the final note of the song. Charles and James happily join in the ringing applause once more. And when she meets their eyes across the club again, they give her even more thumbs up and whistles. 

Just as Monica sends them a wink back, there’s the sound of the double doors opening…followed by slow, slow clapping from one person. 

Everyone turns their heads to spot the clapping intruder. A middle-aged White man in a sharply pressed, expensive suit casually enters the main floor from the foyer. On his feet are black shoes that are painstakingly shined and the bowler hat atop his head is stylishly, subtly cocked to the side. His eyes are calm and his smile is mocking as he continues to clap. 

Stanley Conway, the owner of several segregated clubs and other establishments just on the other side of 124th, 125th, and 126th Streets. 

With the growing force and number of non-segregated clubs like the Silver Curtain and the Baudelaire, a good chunk of his current and would-be patrons are gone, quite often never to return. 

His eyes zero in on Monica. 

Everyone in the club freezes, their eyes boring into Conway and their muscles tensed like coiled springs. 

“Now, _that_ ”, he begins as he ceases his clapping. “Is one of the kinds of wonders that you never truly believe until you actually experience it, Ms. Lynne. I had the greatest privilege to hear your spectacular voice all the way from the sidewalk!” 

James’ jaw clenches so much that his teeth just might bend under the force. Under the table, Charles clutches his wrist in a tight, tight grip that speaks more of tension than restraint. 

Monica raises an eyebrow. “…Well, then I don’ quite know why’d you give up that ‘greatest privilege’ by coming inside while I and other people are tryna rehearse.” 

Conway blinks and presses his hand to his chest in a display of hurt that’s just as mocking as his clapping was. 

“Touché, Ms. Lynne. I do apologize for interrupting. But I simply couldn’t resist getting closer to the voice that’s all but broadcasting over just about every bit of Harlem”, Conway replies. 

Mr. Bailey stands up to directly address Conway while Ms. Chaucer uncomfortably clears her throat and crosses her legs. Monica quietly slips off the stage with intent to head straight for James and Charles, who get up to meet her halfway. 

They stand on either side and to the front of her. Monica resists the urge to bite her lip at the sight of Conway. She grips Charles’ arm and bunches her other hand in the back of James’ shirt. 

“Yes, Ms. Monica Lynne righ’ here has an extraordinary talent”, Bailey curtly agrees. “She’s also part a’ _our_ line-up, here in the Silver Curtain, Mr. Conway.” 

Ms. Chaucer uncrosses her legs and stands up, too. “And with that bein’ said, you’ll be pleased t’know that you may very well have the privilege a’seein’ her perform…when everyone else gets to.” 

Conway inclines his head with a smile that not a single person likes. “Indeed, that _would_ be quite the privilege. But I admit that-” 

Charles cuts him off, voice clipped and grating. “You’re steadily losing the possibility of indulging that privilege by wasting her time with your unwarranted presence. You could prove to everyone in this club that you’re an eighth of suave and intelligent as you hope appear by finding yourself on the other side of those doors again.” 

“That means _leave_ ”, James adds, his jaw still just as tight as ever. 

Conway raises his eyebrows slightly and lifts his hands at some attempt at a placating gesture. “Oh yes, I understand! Again, I apologize for intruding!” He inclines his head at Monica. “I came here with the purpose of proposing an offer that…may be even better than seeing Ms. Lynne perform this coming June.” 

Monica frowns deeply at the man. Her voice is just as clipped and grating as Charles’ and James'. “What exactly would that be, Mr. Conway?” 

“Why, only to offer you a headlining position in one of my establishments right this moment! I can pay you twice what you’ll find here at the Silver Curtain and, yes, I do have quite a few clubs far, far away from the Cotton Club.” 

If Monica’s frown was deep before, it now turns into a full-blown grimace. “… _‘Scuse_ me?”

Conway inclines his head again. “The offer is open and on the table.” He then scrutinizes Monica as best he can with Charles and James flanking in front of her. “Although…you most certainly wouldn’t be able to pass our standard brown paper bag test, I suppose I can afford to make just one exception.” 

Charles and James look about ready to lunge and Monica grips both their arms tightly. The rest of the people either look to be in the same state as Charles and James, appalled or offended with eyes infuriated and mouths wide open, and glaring a hundred holes into Conway’s smiling face. 

Monica’s voice is cool and firm. “Mr. Conway. I ain’t got nothin’ for your or anyone else’s brown paper bag test and it sure as hell ain’ got nothin’ for me. And you must certainly think you’re somethin’ outside of a suit and shiny shoes to waltz uninvited into our house an’ speak of such.” 

“That’s my final answer. Now I think it’s high time that you’d do well to leave and kindly don’ come back.” 

There’s just the slightest, but chilling, hint of irritation that flashes in Conway’s cool blue eyes. He inclines his head to Monica again and starts to back away. 

“Of course, Ms. Lynne. Again, my sincere apologies. Have a good afternoon.” 

It is not until Conway is on the other side of the door that the entirety of the club takes a breath again. 

-

“He said _what_ to Monica?!” Anthony demands just two days later. 

“Yeah. I know”, James agrees through teeth that just barely manage not to grit. “I swear, Charles, me, an’ the rest of the club were ‘bout ready to whip his fuckin’ head to the red. Most disrespectful shit ever.”

“And on top of that, to just barge in there while she and other people are in the middle of their rehearsal in _their_ club? What a fucking pig!” 

“Then, you think about could _we_ go in there and just interrupt _his_ clubs’ rehearsals and other shit?” James gripes. 

“That, too!” Anthony exclaims. 

James and Anthony stroll down the street of James’ apartment block while nursing smoothies from Mrs. Hagen’s and (as usual) holding hands. James has a peach-flavored one while Anthony’s is raspberry. 

Or at least while _trying_ to nurse smoothies through their ire. 

“Is Monica still alright, though? I know you said she was just a little shaken up, but…are you sure?” Anthony asks for the third time. 

A small smile comes to James’ face as he nods. “Yeah, she’s gonna be alright-she _is_ alright. So are the rest of us and so is the whole Silver Curtain. Conway doesn’t matter; the premiere’s gonna go off without a hit an’ Monica’s gonna be front an’ center on that stage.” 

“Alright, I…I guess I’ll sleep better tonight knowing it”, Anthony says, his face mirroring James’ with a small smile of its own.

They continue walking and enjoy more of their smoothies. 

James breaks the comfortable silence. “But…d’you think you’ll prolly be able to make it to one of Moni’s performances? I mean, if not her first one, then jus’ any of them?” 

Anthony winces and adjusts his glasses with his free hand. “Are you sure Monica and Charles would…want me there? They’re both such nice, wonderful people, but I-”

“Hey, now, stop beatin’ up your gums!” James interrupts with a hand squeeze. “We’re gonna have several other friends there anyway and since _you_ happen to be one of _my_ friends, that means an invitation is extended to you, too.” 

James decides that it’s currently unnecessary to mention that it’s only Monica that would genuinely like Tony’s presence, while Charles only agrees with her out of cool politeness and, even more, a desire to please Monica. 

Anthony, meanwhile, flinches internally at James referring to him as his friend in as many times as they’ve been together. 

He still hasn’t told him the truth. 

He would truly _love_ to see Monica sing, but another, stronger part, feels that he’d severely disgrace her by showing up as a…a liar. 

He’s a goddamned liar at this point. 

But Anthony swallows all of that down and forces a brand new, teasing smile on his face. “Well, thanks a whole lot to all three of you for wanting me to be there. But…‘M not too sure about actually being your friend, Rhodey.” 

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that, Tones?” 

“Because I just might order the mac n’ cheese and you just might make me think of a ‘big ol’ cheese stain’ when there’s actually not one there. And that’s not very nice, y’know…” 

James burst out laughing. “Ahh, you’re _still_ on that one, huh?” 

“I most certainly am! Until the end of time!” Anthony punctuates his words with a playfully angry slurp of smoothie. 

“Well, shit. In that case, then, I can’t say that I regret that joke in the least ‘cause that was a good one!” James laughs. 

Anthony laughs with him. 

They walk in companionable silence for a while longer and then James breaks the silence again. 

“So…we’re all okay, but…what about _you_? Are you okay, Tones?” James looks worriedly at the other man. 

Anthony looks back at him. It’s true that he was feeling the last vestiges of anger, irritation, and exhaustion even before James told him about Conway’s behavior. He had to deal with the moniker of “brat that’s giving orders now” during a four-hour long meeting just yesterday morning. During the meeting his company bought another company, Borden Enterprises, who manufactured a good bit of the materials that Stark Industries used to create their final products. But Borden Enterprises was struggling just to stay afloat even before the Crash and so Stark Industries extended a helping hand to them. 

The first ten minutes of the meeting went just fine and dandy until Anthony’s board found out their CEO’s non-negotiable condition for buying Borden Enterprises: Anthony would buy them only if Borden received 95% of the equity while Stark Industries took a teeny 5%. 

Because Stark Industries wasn’t the one that needed the money to get back on their feet as a company. 

Miles Borden all but looked like he was going to collapse from sheer relief while most of Anthony’s board looked like they were about to pop a blood vessel or two. Or three. Those blood vessels only just managed to go back down when the deal was struck and they all took pictures for the New York Times. 

But he struggles to put it out of his mind-he got his way and he’s with James now. 

Anthony gives another smile to James. “Yeah, I’m just…a little stressed is all.” 

James’ look of worry increases in his furrowed brow and tilted head. He stops walking. “Why’re you stressed? Is work…bad again? D’you wanna sit down for a while?” 

Anthony wants to make that look go away. So he stops, too, and pulls James into a warm, close hug. A thrill that goes through his heart as James embraces him back. 

“No, I’m alright, honey bear. Promise”, Anthony assures him. He continues after a sigh. “I just had another board meeting is all.”

He feels James stiffen substantially in his arms and then James is pulling slightly away from him. That expression of worry morphs into a look of discomfort and confusion. 

James’ voice is quiet and perturbed as his eyes search the other man’s face. “Your…‘board’? You have a…‘board’?” 

Anthony freezes as he realizes his mistake. His mind races a mile a minute as he struggles to come up with a convincing cover while also appearing as casual and unbothered as possible to James. 

"Oh, sorry! I mean that I’m… _bored_ at meetings. At my job”, Anthony corrects. 

James blinks. “Okay…then.” 

Anthony nods just a little too hard. “Yeah, see, our meetings at work are so, y’know, sleep-inducing that we call them ‘bored meetings’ as a joke. M-my coworkers and me. It’s just a funny way to, y’know, spice things up a bit at work.” 

“Aw, yeah, that…that _is_ a funny way to spice things up”, James quietly agrees.

That newspaper picture flashes across his mind and he blinks several times to dispel it. 

James pulls completely away from the other man and his hand fidgets with his straw. He doesn’t know if blinking even more or just looking straight at Tony will get rid of that image quickly and for good. The distress of not knowing what the hell to do to discard it brings back that icy, treacherous chill down his spine. He settles for finding something fascinating in a fruit stand across the street. 

Anthony can’t remember a time when his arms ever felt so empty. He wants to pull James back into his arms and make that discomforted look go far, far away to never come back.

He wants to _explain_.

Explain the truth. 

But his tongue is tied and his heart is pounding and, from the look on James’ face, he deems it best to keep his arms at his side. 

And so Anthony tries, “A-are you okay, Rhodey? I’m sorry, it’s j-just a workplace joke-”

“No, no. S’alright.”, James says, his eyes going back to Anthony’s face, but his hand still toying with his straw. “I guess I just…wow. That’s such a clever, innovative way to…yeah, make things more interesting where you work. What a pun. Guess ‘M upset that I wouldn’ have ever thought of something like that, y’know?” 

James does his best to give Anthony a smile that doesn’t look too uneasy. 

Anthony forces himself to smile back even as his heart is racing. “Yeah, well even though you wouldn’t have thought of it? You still can’t steal it if you’re ever bored at work yourself, ‘kay?” 

There’s just a hint of desperation in James’ voice as he grasps at the familiar warmth and ease of their teasing and banter. “What? I can’t even rent it for a few hours?” 

“Nope, not even to rent!” 

“Then, y’know what? I take back at what I said ‘bout it being such a good pun. I ain’ praising nothing you can’t share.” 

“Oh my god, are you serious?!” 

“Dead serious!” 

“Well, fine. I was gonna keep it anyway!” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

Instead of sharing a laugh, they simply give those slightly-uncomfortable smiles to each other. James eventually takes his hand off his straw and mechanically proffers it to Anthony. But Anthony takes his hand anyway, desperate to keep any kind of contact, any kind of connection between them. 

They continue walking down the street, but the whole time Anthony can’t ignore the feeling of being a goddamned liar while James tries everything in his power to ignore the feeling of a deep, nauseous twisting in his stomach. 

-

Summer in Harlem is the slow, but steady painting of the place and its people in brilliant hazes of fiery red and blazing gold. It’s the high, intense afternoon sun baking dark skin even darker and thus, more beautiful. It’s the low, basking evening sun setting smaller sunsets ablaze in darkly-hued eyes of every shade of brown. It’s the mid, rising morning sun splishing and splashing illumination across dark-skinned faces that will soon bloom awake. 

Summer in Harlem is the heatwaves dancing and shimmering across the cracked pavements and along the brick buildings. It’s the smoothies and yogurts flying out of Mrs. Hagen’s almost faster than her family can mix them. It’s the children’s _pitter-patter_ of running feet and _haha_ , _teeheehee_ of laughter as the ice cream truck man stops for them with a smile and sells his refreshing wares with another smile. It’s the same children later jovially playing and frolicking in open fire hydrants. It’s the coming rains misting over everything and everyone and hitting the sweltering, cracked pavement until the mist is lifted even higher and a deep, deep breath is taken. 

Summer in Harlem is…

-

Two weeks just before the premiere of the Silver Curtain sees happy, merry chaos all throughout Harlem. It’s all the rage and talk in every single other club and every single restaurant; Sally Hagen’s diner is constantly awash and abuzz with news and excitement amongst its patrons. Hell, the chatter even nearly drowns out the jukebox on more than one occasion. 

Clothing stores, especially boutiques up and down 126th and her sisters, 125th and 124th, are flooded with new business as people scramble to put together brand new righteous rags for the occasion. Mrs. Rudy Benton of the JC Florence Boutique and her assistants find themselves awash with customers from every angle. The teeny store buzzes all throughout with customer after customer until there are lines stretching from the cash registers and from the dressing rooms. Mrs. Benton’s phone rings at just about all hours of the workday with the calls of customers pleading to know when their orders will arrive. Dresses; zoot suits; shoes; jewelry; ornate cloche hats; and headbands and feathers are snatched up in droves. 

Even after seat reservations are nearly fully booked, flyers are still flying out of the Silver Curtain advertising its opening night. The flyers only add to the growing flames of excitement abound in Harlem; people keep the bright, flashy silver-and-purple advertisements as keepsakes, as souvenirs, as solid proof for bragging rights among friends and family. The club replaced its _“Opening June of this Year!_ banner to a countdown banner that’s changed every day; from the moment they displayed the banner _Opening in Fourteen Days!”_ , people have walked by just to gaze at it with smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts. 

And, hell, the New York Amsterdam proudly posts its own countdown for the Silver Curtain, much to Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey’s added glee. 

-

On the night of the Silver Curtain’s premiere, the whole of Harlem seems to explode and flock to 126th street from all directions. The massive crowd formed in front of the newly-opened club is a dizzying, thrumming blend of celebration and excitement. 

Just earlier that night, the very last countdown banner, _“Opening Tonight!”_ , was ceremoniously cut by both the co-owners to a deafening, applauding audience that stretched so far down the sidewalk that people stood on the other side of the street just to get a glimpse. Reporters from the New York Amsterdam along with several other reporters from Black newspapers and magazines merrily scribbled together notes to write the best story on the opening night and took many pictures from as many angles as they could. 

From there, Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey gave the go-ahead and the club was set brilliantly alight. The club’s name, _The Silver Curtain_ , was illuminated in a bright, bright neon blue. Alongside the corners of the club are large, round lightbulbs that blink rhythmically, adding a fun, wonderful frame to the name of the club. 

And then the double doors are swung wide, wide open for one and all to take a seat. 

-

“Oh my _goodness_ , e’rytime I listen in, it just gets louder”, Monica quietly breathes. 

Monica clutches her fluffy, white robe closer around her and shyly peeks out from behind her dressing room door to listen to the steadily growing roar of the Silver Curtain’s premiere night. Her dressing room is situated far, far behind and away from the stage, but she can still hear the sounds of the club loudly and excitedly filling up with more and more people. Just barely over that commotion, she can only just make out one of the piano players, Mr. Thaddeus Johnson, playing a number that’s just the right combination of soothing and invigorating before the headliner, Monica, takes the stage. 

Mr. Bailey came down and gave Monica the ten minute call just a few moments ago. 

“Of course, Moni. Just remember that that’s all of the people pouring in to cheer and applaud you and throw dresses at you”, Charles reassures her as he gently rubs her back. He wears his navy blue zoot suit.

Monica turns from the door to kiss him soundly on the mouth, a huge, warm smile on her face. “Thank you, baby. Thank you. And I’m…I’m sure Imma be alrigh’ tonight. I’m feelin’ a good energy that’s not too full of anxiety.” 

Charles nods, his face brightening. “You’ve been feeling like this all day, too. Just remember when you have to go out there and have to give a little introduction of yourself? Be yourself-that’s the best kind of Moni that there is.” 

James, who wears his red-orange zoot suit, nods vigorously from where he’s admiring her petite, stately vanity. “I absolutely second that.” 

James adjusts the smooth lapels of his suit as he thinks about how Tony couldn’t make it tonight. He’s more than grateful that Charles and Monica didn’t press about it too much. 

Besides…James has a feeling that he can’t describe that says Tony not being here tonight is probably for the best. He puts it out of his mind-tonight is Monica’s night. 

Monica smiles again and then holds both her arms out for a group hug. Her boys meet her in the middle of the room and they squeeze each other tight and close. So, so very tight and close. 

“Thank ya’ll two. I can’t tell you how much this means to me”, Monica whispers. “That you’re here-and you’ve _always_ been here-and you’re still here tonight. I really, really can’t.” 

Charles and James hold her even closer and Monica _swears_ that she’s not about to ruin this perfectly good eyeliner and mascara by tearing up.

She has to clear her throat a few times as she pulls away from them. She delicately fingers one of her curls. “Well! Guess I gotta go ‘head and get properly dressed and touch up this makeup ‘fore the main event, huh?” 

Her boys nod, their own eyes just on this shy of wet and smiles on their own faces. 

“You’ll be _wonderful_ , Moni. This is your very own palace, so there’s no way you won’t be fine. And we’ll be right there at the table Chaucer and Bailey set aside for us”, Charles says. 

“Yep! Ain’ no better place to be tonight than here!” James agrees. 

And then they’re leaving her dressing room and on the way to their table. 

Monica’s hands have only just the slightest tremor as she dons her brand new slinky, silver dress, stark white headband, and white pumps with the single straps. Next, is touching up her makeup just a bit. She takes just a few precious minutes to admire her reflection in the mirror. 

Every which way Monica moves, her dress seems to glisten and breathe of its own accord, as though it’s inlaid with a thousand lively diamonds that capture and hold light. It hugs and accentuates her every curve while its elasticity gives her more than enough room to move and breathe. Its scoop neckline stops just above the line of her cleavage. The back of the dress dips all the way down to her waist; a sheer, nude cover specifically designed to match women with Monica’s dark skin tone protects her back from the cool air. Just skimming the middle of her thighs is the fashionably-frayed hem that looks to be inlaid with just as many diamonds. Monica feels that the rest of her legs go on for miles down until they taper down to her ankles, which each sport a dainty white strap from her shoes. Her headband and shoes add perfection to the look. 

Mrs. Rudy Benton really did do a fantastic job of draping her down in the right rags for tonight. 

Not that Monica or anyone else in Harlem would’ve ever thought otherwise. 

A knock comes on her door, followed by Ms. Chaucer’s voice. “Ms. Moni? Y’ready, hon? You got less than five minutes, now.” 

Monica beams and goes to open the door. “All ready, Ms. Chaucer! How do I look?” 

Ms. Chaucer herself is draped down in a velvety rouge dress that’s just off her shoulders. She delicately touches her fingers to her neck and inspects Monica from head-to-toe, her eyes admiring and approving. “You’re simply _stunning_ , darlin’. Jus’ as we all knew you’d be.” 

“Oh, thank you! You are, too!” 

“Thanks, hon! Now, why donchu follow me up these here stairs so you can wait for Bailey’s cue to come out?” 

Monica’s heart pounds as she nods and leaves her dressing room to follow the older woman towards the stage front. They wait within the curtains and to the left of the stage for Bailey’s cue. 

Monica can’t tell the woman how grateful she is to her for staying right there with her the whole time they wait. Ms. Chaucer gently rubs her back and Monica leans into the warm, reassuring touch. With smiles on their faces, they listen to Mr. Thaddeus Johnson’s piano playing drift to a close as Bailey gives a preamble that in equal parts makes the crowd cheer, makes the crowd “aww”, and makes the crowd laugh. 

“Well!” Bailey clears his throat. “Ya’ll are all quite a polite crowd. But I do see that I ain’ the one you been waitin’ on tonigh’, huh?” 

More laughter, coupled with quite a bit of wooing and cheering. 

Monica and Ms. Chaucer can hear the smile in Bailey’s voice as he continues, “For those a’you that don’ quite know who e’ryone else is waiting for? Firstly, we think ya’ll should know that her voice is _so_ incredible that we asked her to headline this very night ‘fore she even left the audition.” 

Enthusiastic clapping. The kind that Monica is sure makes your hands sore after just one round. 

Bailey proudly continues his preamble. “She’s a fine young lady straight up from East Harlem and ain’ no one luckier to have her than all the people in this here Silver Curtain.” 

Even more, louder enthusiastic clapping. Monica is sure that people’s hands are getting sore. 

“So please welcome your first performer-”

Ms. Chaucer gives her back a little pat and whispers, “Alrigh’, now, hon. Here you go. Jus’ be yourself and _kill ‘em_.” 

Monica can only manage a deep breath and a nod. 

_This is it. I’m really, truly here._

“-your _headliner_ , Ms. Monica Lynne!” Bailey announces. 

Ms. Chaucer gives her a gentle push…

…And Monica is caught up in a nearly overwhelming roar of lights and flashing and cheering and applause and even more applause. 

All just for her. 

She puts a playful frown on her face, spins around just once, and then mimes pointing to herself in confusion as though she can’t quite imagine who the audience is clapping and cheering for. 

That only makes the crowd go even wilder. 

Monica spots James and Charles, who are clapping and cheering just as much as everyone else, at a table in the middle, close to the front. She gives them a not-so-subtle smile and wink as she steps up to the microphone and takes it out of its stand. 

She takes another deep breath as her eyes sweep all over the Silver Curtain. The first floor is nothing but a never-ending ocean of purple-tablecloth-covered-tables filled to capacity with draped-down patrons on either side of the spacious, currently-empty dancefloor before Monica. Meanwhile, the second floor is made up of nothing but splendid balconies while still holding just as many tables and its own dancefloor. The balconies’ rails are flooded with even more draped-down patrons beaming and smiling down at her. High, high above everyone’s heads stretch the golden pillars that look to be bathed in sparkling magic from the crystal chandeliers. 

Her palace is looking beautiful tonight. 

So, so very beautiful. 

Monica cradles the microphone and her face brightens even more. “So this is what a _full house_ looks like on nice, warm June night on the premiere of the Silver Curtain, huh?” 

At that, the crowd roars with renewed clapping and cheering. 

Monica nods resolutely. She speaks quieter into the microphone this time, as though this will be a secret just between her and everyone here. “Well, I gotta tell ya’ll…I think I like this look.” 

She’s met with even more rousing applauding and cheering. 

_That’s it. Just keep being yourself._ She flips her curls and continues, “So I wanna start off with preemptive apology: ‘M not too sure if I’ll be able to sing for you tonight, though I very dearly want to.”

Laughter rings and echoes through the club. 

Monica giggles back and places the microphone back in its stand. “But! Jus’ in case I _can_ sing for you tonight? Imma first try this number called ‘Blue Skies’.” 

The band starts behind her. She waits for the musical cue and starts, smooth and slow.

_I was blue, just as blue as I could be_

_Ev'ry day was a cloudy day for me_

_Then good luck came a-knocking at my door_

_Skies were gray but they're not gray anymore_

By this time, people are trickling to the dancefloor. Monica grins as even more join them. She dances in place a little as she continues to sing, letting her voice carry the notes higher and higher.

_Never saw the sun shining so bright_

_Never saw things going so right_

_Noticing the days hurrying by_

_When you're in love, my how they fly…_

She improvises blowing a kiss to Charles at that last lyric. Charles, in turn, grins and pretends to catch it and hold it to his face. James laughs. 

Monica lets the last, high-ringing note of the song echo through the club…and she’s met with even more applause and cheering than before. She smiles so much that she’s sure her face will split before this night is over. A light sheen of sweat coats her body by this time and she flips her curls again. 

“Now let’s see if we can get more of ya’ll out to the dancefloors with this one, hmm?” 

The band starts up behind her once again, but this time the number starts with just the trombone and saxophone players in a high-tempo rhythm. The crowd immediately recognizes the song as ‘Crazy Rhythm’ and a brand new roar takes over the Silver Curtain as droves of people merrily scramble to the dancefloors. Within seconds, the dancefloor is flooded with people swinging and Lindy Hopping their hearts out. Hell, even James manages to pull Charles onto the dancefloor and they’re swinging just as much as everyone around them. 

Monica grins. She closes her eyes and sways in place as she starts rapidly snapping to the tune of the song. “Ya’ll catch that beat right there, now…” 

No sooner than the words leave her mouth and the whole of the club is filled with the sounds of snapping in-tune with Monica’s. 

Her grin widens. “Yeah, there ya’ll go.” 

The cue comes and she starts, cheery and upbeat:

_Crazy rhythm, here's the doorway_

_I'll go my way, you'll go your way_

_Crazy rhythm, from now on…_

_We're through._

One of the saxophone players, Mr. Lyles Donner, saunters up the stage to stand beside Monica as he absolutely kills it. Monica grins at him and keeps singing as they do a little shimmy down with extra shoulder bouncing, and then back up together, much to the club’s added delight.

_Here is where we have a showdown_

_I'm too high and you're too low down_

_Crazy rhythm, here's goodbye to you…_

When the song ends, there’s thrice as much ringing and applause. Monica inclines her head as she takes a few moments to catch her breath and flip more of her curls out of her now-sweaty face. She brightens as she looks over the patrons and sees that just about everyone that was dancing (most of the club) are in much the same state as she is. 

Breathless. Sweaty. Happy. Dizzy. 

“ _Whew!_ ”, Monica exclaims as she fans her face with her hands. She sweeps her eyes all over her palace once again. “Can we breathe?” 

She’s answered with an affirmative roar. 

“Naw, Silver Curtain”, she says. “I said _can we breathe?!_ ” 

This time, she gets an even stronger, more booming roar. 

Monica beams and nods in approval. “Yeah, that’s what I like to hear. And since we can all breathe, how ‘bout we use this last lil song to wind down a bit an’ breathe even more?” 

Agreeing applause and cheers. 

Monica fingers the microphone stand. “So this one is a song I think I was born singing. See, I have a fella, a Soulmate, an’ I call him Charles-”

There are quite a few ‘ahhs’ and ‘oohhs’. She can make out James’ chuckle and when she looks down, she sees Charles cover his eyes in bashfulness and quietly moan, “Oh my _god_ , she’s doing it.”

“-and I’m lucky enough that I found him fairly early in our lives”, Monica continues, her face still bright as ever. “But before I did find him, I think I had this particular song stuck in my head while I was dreamin’ of him. Ya’ll hold your partners close an’ get ready for some nice, soft Lady Ella.” 

“So Charles, baby, even though you’re shy, I love you and this one here is for you.”

Charles finally looks back up at her, face beaming, and mouths “I love you, too” back. Even more ‘ahhs’ and ‘oohhs’ come forth. James grabs Charles again to start gently swaying. 

The band starts, airy and dreamy and gentle. Monica closes her eyes and starts the classic jazz ballad called ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’ with a sweet, soft croon:

_There's a saying old, says that love is blind._

_Still we're often told "Seek and ye shall find."_

_So I'm going to go seek a certain lad I've had_

_in mind…_

Upon Monica finishing the song with a gentle, cresting melisma, the final cheer and applause is thunderous throughout the Silver Curtain. The club is so vibrant and _alive_ with the thunder that one almost wonders if it’ll collapse on itself from the inside out. Every last person is joins in the standing ovation for Monica. Every last person has a bright, bright smile and bright, bright eyes for Monica. 

And Monica never knew that anything could so effortlessly drown out the roaring in her ears that comes to her when she’s on the high of performing, of being on the stage. But tonight is the night that she finds that there is, indeed, something that can drown it out and it’s spread out before her like an ocean of Harlem’s pride and celebration. 

She somehow finds the strength to hold onto the microphone stand and say, “Thank ya’ll…thank all of ya’ll.”

About ten minutes later finds Monica back in her dressing room and struggling to remember how to take in oxygen. She lounges on Charles’ lap with her head snuggled onto his shoulder. Charles keeps one hand soothingly curled around her back and the other holds her mostly-empty glass of water. James sits close by, one hand warmly resting on Monica’s knee, while the other cradles all the flowers that were tossed to her at the end of her show. They can all vaguely hear the sounds of a tap dancing performance from the stage. 

Charles tenderly touches his forehead to hers. “You’re alright- _more_ than alright. This is just the adrenaline wearing off. It’ll pass soon.” 

James pats her knee and nods in agreement. “And as soon as it wears off, you’re gonna be able to take the time to smell jus’ how wonderful these flowers are.” 

“Mmhmm”, Charles agrees. 

Monica only has the energy to nod and smile in understanding. 

A knock comes on her dressing room door and they all three turn to see Mr. Bailey, who holds yet another bouquet of flowers for Monica in his arms, and Ms. Chaucer, who wears the brightest beam they’ve ever seen on her. 

James grins and graciously accepts the new bouquet for his best friend. Charles rubs Monica’s back as she sits up a little to smile at the two co-owners. 

Her voice is soft and hoarse with the beginnings of tiredness. “Oh hey, Mr. Bailey. Ms. Chaucer. Uhhh…good night, huh?” 

“ _Excellent_ night, Ms. Monica. Simply excellent”, Ms. Chaucer passionately corrects. 

Mr. Bailey puts on hand on his hip and points at Monica with the other. “You, young lady, you an’ your crew here eat here on a discount on top of a discount _on top of a discount_ , y’hear?” 

Monica blinks several times at that. She shrugs and stares helplessly at Mr. Bailey. “…Bailey, whatchu talkin’ about food for, huh? Ain’ nobody got room for anything in their stomachs right now ‘cept leftover butterflies!” 

The whole of Monica’s dressing room becomes awash with laughter. 

-

The papers show an ad for the Chez de Baudelaire hosting an extended stand-up comedy special on Friday night in the spirit of Fats Waller. 

Anthony calls James to invite him out to the show. 

“Sure, yeah. That’d…that’d be fun”, James says in a voice that’s much, much too quiet. 

Anthony forces a smile into his own voice. “Great! And try not to worry too much about the bill! ‘Cause I really _do_ got it this time around again, James. Promise.” 

That unsettling nausea comes forth in James’ stomach again and he wraps an arm around his middle in a futile effort to make it go away. He nods in response, but then remembers that Anthony can’t see the motion. “Oh, yeah. Sure. I…I know that. Thanks. I…yeah, thanks.” 

“Rhodey, are you alright?” Anthony asks, his voice just on the verge of frantic. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I mean, we can do something-”

“No, no, ‘M alright. Jus’ tired from work is all.” 

“Oh. Okay. D’you want to tell me all about it? I got time.” 

“No, I’m sorry, Tones. I’m actually…” James tightens his arm around his middle. “I’m actually just more tired than I thought. I should be going to bed soon.” 

Anthony’s voice goes just as quiet as James’. “Ah. I…I understand.” 

“Yeah. Listen, I’ll see you at the Baudelaire on Friday night. G’night, Tony.” 

“G’night, James.” 

After they hang up, Anthony holds the receiver in his hand for a long, long time before he puts it back in the cradle. 

James walks away from the phone and to his bedroom and climbs into bed.

He doesn’t find sleep for three hours. 

\- 

Anthony’s words ring over and over and over again in James’ head. 

_“I just had another board meeting is all.”_

Though he’s tried his hardest, there’s no way he can distract himself, no way to get rid of the unsettling feelings in his stomach. And he’s restless with indecision, something that he’s rarely struggled with in life and it irritates the hell out of him at the same time that it disturbs him. He remembers his promise to Monica and Charles to reach out to them immediately if anything feels wrong, but he doesn’t know…how or even if to tell them about this. Next, he wrestles with picking up the phone and canceling on Tony, but surely Tony will be honest with him about…whatever he’s hiding by the next time they see each other. 

Surely Tony is honest with him already. 

And then James ponders just burying himself in his work at the shop and in his aviation collection at home. He somewhat manages to succeed at the shop, but he can’t grasp his concentration for shit when attempting the same technique with his aviation collection back home. 

The walls are closing in on him. 

So the day before his date at the Baudelaire with Tony, James plasters a smile on his face and knocks on one of his neighbor’s, Mr. Dave Richard’s , door. 

Though the elderly man is a Russian straight from Alabama’s Butterfly Capital, he’s been a Harlem resident ever since James was a very, very young child. He cheerfully introduces himself to everyone as ‘Simpleh Mistah Dave or Dave, please an’ thank ya!’ with a nod and a wave. After the Great War, he fled to the North with nothing but what he could carry with him on a bus and his two sons that are several years older than James, Thomas and Gabriel. 

Every now and then, James heard Dave’s sons lament about the combined, irrevocable changes the war and the South have left upon their father. Like how the man can’t sleep a wink without his shoes on. How we went grayer faster than they could blink. How he can’t abide fireworks so much that he hides out in the apartment complex’s basement and blasts music there for the entire day. How he finds it difficult to throw away most of his newspapers, no matter how old they are. How he absolutely must witness his sons eat before he’ll believe that they’re truly full and fed. 

Neither James nor anyone else ever asked which of those traumas came from fighting in the Great War and which of them came from living in the South. 

James makes sure his smile is wide and bright when Mr. Dave answers the door. The old man leans on his cane and his face brightens warmly upon seeing who is on his doorstep. 

“James, kiddo!” He exclaims. “Why you’re lookin’ more an’ more like your handsome daddy e’ryday! Always did say ya mama was a lucky gal! How y’doin?” 

James feels a warm flush combined of pleasure and longing at the mention of his parents. “Aw, thank you, Mr. Dave! ‘M great. How’re you?” 

“Mighteh fine, mighteh fine, thanks!” His face brightens even more. “So what can I do for ya, son?” 

“I was wondering if you could loan me some of your old newspapers, please? All of them that you have for the past…two to three weeks?” 

Mr. Dave tilts his head at the unexpected request. “Ahh, some a’my old newspapers, you say? Well, for that, you’re gon’ have to do something for me in turn.”

“What’s that, Mr. Dave?” 

The elderly man’s eyes twinkle and crinkle at the corners. “C’mon in here and get you some pecan pie to share wit’ Monica and Charles. I made it fresh jus’ yesterday an’ my boys won’ show the good sense to have more than a slice or two.” 

James chuckles and puts his hand over his heart in a playful, sympathetic gesture. “Oh, is that right? Well, sir, ‘M afraid that sounds like quite a steep price to pay, but…I think I can pay it.” 

Mr. Dave grins and he jerks his chin for James to come in on inside. James follows him into the kitchen, where he gets out the pecan pie and-

“Are those… _chocolate chips_ in there, Mr. Dave? You ain’t told me nothin’ about chocolate chips being in there…” 

“Well, why would I? Ain’ that a good surprise?” He laughs as he sets the generous pie slices onto a plate and then searches for some plastic wrap. 

“Oh, I don’ quite think so. See, you _do_ know that my parents raised me right, but now I’m not too sure I’ll be able to share with Moni and Charles…” 

Mr. Dave chuckles as he hands the plate to James. “Hogwash, kid! Now, let’s get you them newspapers. Y’said…from the past two to three weeks, right?” 

“Yes, sir, thank you.” 

Mr. Dave obliges and, after fervently thanking the man and promising to visit again, James is on his way back home with chocolate-chip pecan pie and newspapers in tow. 

As soon as he’s alone inside his apartment, he rushes to sit down at his kitchen table. With trembling hands, he flips through the newspapers until he finds the one that dates back to about three weeks ago. 

“If nothing’s here, then I’m wrong. I’m wrong and it’s not _true_ …it’s not true”, James frantically whispers to himself as he turns the pages over. 

There’s still thankfully nothing when he leaves pages two and three-

 _‘Stark Industries Buys Borden Enterprises’_

Below that headline is yet another picture of Anthony Stark. Behind him is what must be his board of directors, all of them with cool, cordial smiles and postures of practiced, stiff formality. As he grasps another man’s, the man who must be Borden’s, hand in a handshake, that smirk is just as arrogant and aloof as ever. 

That smirk…that smirk is not James’ Tony Carbonell. 

But it’s once again Tony’s eyes. Tony’s mustache. Tony’s jaw. Tony’s lips. Tony’s shock of black hair-

“If you’re on the track that I think you’re on…then you’re on the right one.” Charles’ quiet voice sounds from the doorway, but it’s as loud as a train passing over James’ ears.

James’ head snaps up to look at his best friend. He didn’t even hear Charles open the door and come inside the apartment. Charles looks pained-his eyes are quietly, but profoundly, perturbed behind his glasses and his mouth is pressed into a tight, thin line. He adjusts the strap of his schoolbag and attempts to give a comforting smile to the other man. 

“You asked me what I was reading in the library. I was reading books as usual, yes…but I was also searching for and reading newspapers, just as you’re doing right now. It took a while, but I found what I knew would be there.” 

He comes further into the apartment to sit beside the other man. James watches in a daze as Charles opens his schoolbag and starts rifling through it. 

Charles glances at James as he searches. “The name ‘Carbonell’ doesn’t sound familiar at all-I exhausted that lead just wracking my brain to see if I remember ever hearing it anywhere else besides ‘Tony Carbonell’. So it’s not familiar to me, but it _is_ an uncommon enough name that I knew there was surely something to find.” 

With a quiet sigh, Charles pulls out one particularly old newspaper and lays it in front of James, over the one he was just reading. From its date on its front page, James can see that the paper is well over twenty years old. 

His voice still quiet, Charles explains, “‘Carbonell’ was the maiden name of a woman named Maria Collins Carbonell. But more than twenty years ago, she went on to marry a man and her name changed…”

James is still dazed and frozen as he watches Charles flip to the second page and point to a headline and picture. 

“…to ‘Maria Stark’”, Charles finishes. 

James blinks down at the huge, merry headline and picture that shows a newlywed Maria Stark arm-in-arm with her husband, Howard Stark. He swallows bile down his throat at how much Howard Stark, smiling cordially at the camera, looks just like his son, Anthony Stark…

…Who looks just like Tony Carbonell. 

Charles pulls out a second newspaper that’s only a few years old. 

This time, what James needs to see is right in front of them, dominating the whole of the front page with its unthinkable, untimely tragedy. 

Charles’ voice is even quieter before. “But Maria Carbonell-turned-Maria Stark died in a car crash alongside her husband not too long ago.” 

_“It…it was a car crash that took Mom away. A really nasty one. It was raining.”_

There’s one last newspaper that Charles pulls out of his schoolbag and lays in front of James. Once again, what’s needed to be seen takes over the whole front page: Anthony Stark dressed all in black at his parents’ funeral with his face quiet and somber. 

Just like “Tony Carbonell’s” face was quiet and somber on the Brooklyn Bridge. 

“And, of course, Stark Industries and all the accompanying finances, assets, properties, and the like”, Charles continues. “…were passed down to their only son, Anthony Stark.” 

The room spins and spins and spins around James until he’s sure that he doesn’t remember which way is up and which way is down. A frigid chill locks into his muscles as his heart jackhammers in his chest. That bile rises even higher and quicker in his throat that he can barely swallow it down before he vomits all over the table and Charles. 

It’s silent for only a few seconds more before Charles scoots his chair closer and wraps an arm closely around his shoulders. But the warmth of the gesture can’t penetrate the frigidness that’s taken over James’ body. He hasn’t taken his eyes off the damning newspapers even once. 

“I’m sorry, James. I really, truly am”, Charles laments. “But…you need to know the truth. I didn’t want you to stay in a relationship where you could get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt. I just-”

James slowly shaking his head cuts him off. He struggles to form words through the overwhelming clogging in his throat, but nothing tangible comes out. Nothing tangible at all. But Charles seems to understand as he gives James a firm, gentle squeeze around his shoulders. He wishes that he could lean into the comforting touch, but he’s still just as frozen as ever. 

James is not hungry for chocolate-chip pecan pie. 

-

“Anthony, this is _beyond ridiculous!_ ” Virginia shouts. 

Anthony runs a hand through his hair for the seventh time tonight. “I know, V.” 

“Oh, you ‘know’?!” Rumiko yells. “What the fuck do you ‘know’, Anthony Stark?! Do you ‘know’ that it’s now been _two months_ and you still haven’t told James the truth?! _Two whole fucking months_ , Anthony!” 

Eighth time. “I know, Rumi. I _know_ -”

“Two entire months!” Virginia repeats, this time in a full-blown bellow. “Have you lost your damn mind?! We already discussed how you’re nervous and anxious about being honest with him, but this is beyond taking it too far! How would _you_ feel if James kept something like this for you?” 

Fidgeting with his tie for the fourth time. “…Probably not too good. Not too good at all.”

It was barely ten minutes ago when Anthony was doing work alone in one of his studies before Rumiko and Virginia burst in. He resigned himself to bear the acidic burns of their glares as they demanded to know if, after all this time, he’s told James yet. 

_Yet._

Because it’s been a long, long time now since they had that initial conversation and still a long, long time since they both gave him gentle, patient reminders to tell James the truth soon. 

So Anthony laid his work down on his desk, looked them square in their faces, and confessed to them that, no, he still hasn’t told James and, no, he doesn’t know when or if he’s planning on doing so.

He winced when the acidity in their glares boiled straight into volcanic proportions and they started screaming at him. 

He resigned himself to it because he deserves it. 

Fuck, the only other person that has even more right to scream at him right now than his two best friends (and Monica and Charles, were they here) is James himself. 

Not that acknowledging the reality of that makes it any more bearable to even think of. 

Rumiko rounds on him all over again. “So you acknowledge that _you_ wouldn’t feel good if it was reversed, but you still have the nerve to walk into his house and show your face to him every single time?! Who do you think you are?!” 

“As much as you talk about James like you care for him, how the fuck can you treat him so terribly, Anthony?! “ Virginia growls. 

Anthony rubs at his forehead. “I-I know, V. Rumi. I swear to you two- _I know_ and I’m _sorry_. I don’t mean to treat him like this; I don’t mean to disrespect him like this. I just-”

“Oh, no of course you don’t mean to!” Rumiko sarcastically agrees in an icy sing-song voice. “Except you’ve been doing this thing that you ‘don’t mean to do’ for a whole two goddamned months! Wow, who would’ve thought?!” 

Virginia adds, “Better yet, is that your code for you saying that you were just waiting for _us_ to be honest with James for you?! What, you wanted us to do it for you?!” 

“No, no. I-it’s my responsibility, I know that. Solely mine and I haven’t taken care of it-”

“Your responsibility?! You _think?_ ” Virginia cries. 

Rumiko throws her hands up. “Anthony, what the hell are you so _afraid_ of?!”

At that, Anthony stares at them with incredulity in his eyes. A bout of delirious laughter bursts out of his mouth. “What am I afraid of? Or better yet, what am I _not_ afraid of, Rumiko?!” 

A great deal of that volcanic acidity leaves the two women as they stare uncomprehendingly at him. Anthony can still feel their stares as he looks away from them to find something interesting in his desk. He spots his fake glasses sitting just on the edge, right next to his phone. 

The fake glasses that James doesn’t know are fake. 

His hands tremble as he picks them up and fiddles with them. 

Rumiko and Virginia are still waiting. 

When Anthony can finally speak, his eyes are still on his glasses and his voice is quiet with shame. “I don’t want to lose him. Even if all he’d say is that he needs some space from me and he’ll call me later when he figures something out…I’m terrified of that.” 

He looks back up at his two best friends with eyes are that are just as hopeless as they are guilty. “But what if he doesn’t even say that? Doesn’t even choose that? What if he takes one look at me as I really am when he knows the truth, and he says ‘no’?” 

Every last vestiges of rage and indignation are gone from the two women by now. They share a pained glance between them, and then Rumiko is pulling a chair up and coming around to sit beside Anthony at the desk. Virginia does the same on the other side of Anthony. 

Rumiko runs a gentle hand over his hair, putting as much of it back into place as she can. She just as gently shoots back, “What if, no matter how his answer may hurt you, you honor and respect the answer he gives because you respect _him_? And what if respecting him enough to give him that choice from the moment you two got even closer to each other were never about you in the first place, but always about _him_?” 

On his other side, Virginia grasps his hand in hers. “Anthony, _please_. If you’re not going to come clean with James by the next time you see him, then at this point you’re never going to come clean. So _please_ just tell him the truth.” 

Anthony feels Rumiko’s hand, gentle and soothing, in his hair and Virginia’s hand, warm and grasping, on his hand. Their words echo ‘round and ‘round in his mind. 

They’re right-just as right as they’ve been for all of these two months. 

But it still _hurts_. It hurts so, so terribly. 

He twirls the glasses in his free hand and looks in-between them with a sad, sad smile on his face. “…Even if it means I’ll never get to see him again?” 

Rumiko’s voice is just as deeply sad as her face is. “Anthony. You’re just going to have to accept that that may be what happens.” 

Virginia nods in agreement. “And if that is what comes to be, then all you can do is remember and be grateful for the time that you _did_ have with him. James gave you all of that and more and you’re still trying to take away his right to choose who he does and doesn’t want in his life.” 

The mere possibility of never being able to see James again…Anthony can barely think beyond the crater growing wider and wider in his chest, knocking the breath out of him. In such a short amount of time, James became a vital part of Anthony’s life. James is one of the first people Anthony thinks about when he wakes up in the morning and he most certainly still thinks about him throughout the day. The future promise of being able to spend time with James is more and more often what helps get him through the eye-drooping, teeth-clenching, ass-licking tedium of board meetings. 

And when Anthony finally finds himself with James in his native Harlem again, Anthony breathes and relaxes far, far more comfortably with the other man than he does in his own home. To have found and befriended James at all is one of the greatest gifts Anthony could’ve ever received in his life. 

And the kiss they shared in front of James' apartment...the mere remembrance of it renews that tingling warmth in Anthony's lips.

Anthony can’t…can’t imagine being without James. 

But that doesn’t change the fact that Rumiko and Virginia are still right. 

He tells them as much, his voice low and hoarse. “You’re right. You’re both completely, absolutely right. I…yeah. You’re right.” He nods solemnly to both of them. To himself. “I have to tell him the next time I see him. So I will.” 

“But do you mean it this time?” Virginia asks. 

“ _Really_ mean it?” Rumiko asks. 

Anthony nods decisively. “I mean it. I do. I really, really do this time. Promise.” 

He does. 

He just desperately hopes that he won’t be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To capture the spirit and sheer power of Monica's stage presence as best I could, I watched these [two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ByLJstEo0fo) [videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJBfv9CHlcw) of Beyoncé's performances. They're "Love on Top" and "End of Time". Like, I've been in Queen Bey heaven ever since "Formation" and I've _definitely_ been in Queen Bey heaven since the whole of "Lemonade". So it was just the next step to watch her videos to study/tap into the feeling that I wanted to convey on the page. Ya'll likey? :D
> 
> Here are the songs Monica sings: 
> 
> ["Blue](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INPm4Jf5t_g%20) [Skies"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Skies_\(Irving_Berlin_song\))
> 
> ["Crazy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQWmB2PrS0A) [Rhythm"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crazy_Rhythm)
> 
> ["Someone to ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDhF-PsDuCw) [Watch Over Me"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Someone_to_Watch_Over_Me_\(song\))
> 
> Also, I made the Silver Curtain tablecloths purple this time around in honor of Prince...dear god, it doesn't feel like he's gone anymore than it feels like Whitney is gone. :(
> 
> Lastly, we knew T'Challa was gon' find out about Tony once and for all. Oohhhh, we knew...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...
> 
> Just remember: I ain't got no sleep 'cause of ya'll, so ya'll ain't gonna get no sleep 'cause of me. 
> 
> I cried more than any of ya'll writing this. Cry if you need to, but ain't nobody getting any sympathy from me. /jk :P
> 
>  **A word of caution:** this particular chapter goes very, very hard. I put a trigger warning right at the top of the end notes in case no one wants to be spoiled, along w/a long-ass explanation of why it took so long for Tony to be honest w/Rhodey. If you read the trigger warning and find that it's not something you can handle, _please_ let me know; I won't mind just briefly summarizing the chapter for you in the comments!

James isn’t waiting for Anthony outside of the Baudelaire on Friday. 

Anthony’s heart does leaps and bounds in his throat as he combs through the sidewalks for the other man. But James is still nowhere to be found. 

_Dammit, no…_ no. _I have to tell him tonight…it has to be tonight. I can’t be too late…please don’t tell me I’m too late…_

When James still doesn’t show up outside, Anthony quietly, but frenziedly, continues his search inside the club’s first floor. But he once again finds nothing. The show is still about ten minutes from starting and it’s not yet full to the brim of people, and so Anthony lets the possibility of James simply being late run through his mind. But…but James has never, ever been late before.

As he heads for the second floor, it’s everything he can do to keep from sprinting up the stairs like a madman. Anthony nearly bumps into more than one person and he barely remembers to be polite and apologize as his eyes search and search for-

“James!” 

His dance partner, his friend, wears his tuxedo and sits quietly at a table near a window. Upon hearing his name, James looks up from perusing the petite domed lantern and flowers. 

The smile he gives to Anthony is cordial. 

Anthony futilely struggles to swallow his racing heart down his throat. He adjusts his glasses and does his best to give James a bright, bright smile back. That trembling starts in his hands and he shoves them deep into his pockets as he comes closer. 

“H-hey, I thought this was supposed to be comedy night, not hide-and-seek night”, Anthony teases. 

James only gives him yet another cordial smile. “Yeah, I guess…I’m still a lil tired, so I decided to sit down and wait for you instead. Thought you’d find me, though.” 

“Yeah, I did find you. M-may I…may I join you?” 

A single, simple nod. “Sure.” 

Anthony focuses on his breathing as he sits down in the chair next to the other man. He wants to ask James if he can hold his hand, but…tonight, there’s something telling him that James would not welcome it. So Anthony keeps his trembling hands to himself. He forces himself to block out the pain of being unable to access the warm, familiar contact. 

It’s silent at their table for all of a few seconds before Anthony breaks it. 

“Rhodey, you know how…how I’ve been trying to confess to you that there’s…something I need to tell you? Something important?” 

James looks at him with that same cordial smile. There’s just the slightest raising of his eyebrows. “Uh huh?” 

_Tonight. Tell him. Do it…just fucking do it._

“Well, you see, I’m-”

“Actually?” James interrupts him, his face taking on pensiveness. “Before you tell me something, how ‘bout I ask _you_ something first?” 

Completely thrown off, Anthony blinks and tilts his head in surprise. “O-oh, sure. Ask me anything you want, honey bear.” 

James’ new smile tips from cordiality and into the beginnings of coolness. “When you bought that Borden guy’s company was it very expensive for yours?”

“Not really, actually”, Anthony assures him. “It was barely a couple million and-”

Anthony goes still. Heavy, lumpy cotton chokes his throat as James gives him a smile that’s nothing but cold by now. 

_I waited too long…I’m too late…too late…_

A short, harsh laugh leaves James’ mouth. He nods slowly at the other man, and then smiles up at the ceiling. “Welp. You must’ve thought I’m real fuckin’ stupid and I wouldn’t eventually figure it out, huh?” 

Before Anthony can answer, James jumps out of his chair, nearly tipping it over, and rushes for the stairs. 

He hadn’t waited for Tony- _Anthony Stark_ -outside as they’ve usually done for each other. He couldn’t because the sidewalk was swimming up to meet him and he once again felt nauseated and was going to vomit all over it and the other people around him. So James went inside the club to sit down and it was a struggle every single second not to get up and leave, just leave and not deal with this, not see the other man ever again. 

But he stayed, Anthony _fucking_ Stark found him, and now James knows the goddamned ugly truth once and for all. 

The nausea that’s harbored in his stomach bursts and radiates into a prevalent, urgent _need_ to get as far away from the other man as quickly as possible. James has to get _out_ -he has to get _away_. 

Now. 

He’s rude-he blindly pushes past the other patrons in the club. He looks back not once to see looks of indignation and annoyance. 

Anthony snaps out of his stilled state and jumps up to go after James. He has to…he has to fix this. 

He has to make this better. 

He has to make this right. 

He has to _try_. 

Anthony, too, is rude as he desperately pushes past doubly-indignant and annoyed people to catch up to James. 

“Rhodey!” He cries, that heavy, lumpy cotton putting his voice just on the edge of a sob. 

James rushes down the stairs. 

“Rhodey, wait!” 

James is nearly to the front doors. 

“Rhodey, please wait-!” 

James abruptly stops just before the doors and turns on Anthony with furious eyes that are bright with unshed tears. “ _Don’t_ call me that. Do not _ever_ fucking call me that again.” 

Anthony is once again rendered still by the raw fury in James’ eyes. 

By the raw _hurt_ in James’ eyes. 

Hurt that he and he alone caused because he consistently put himself before James, because he lied to James all this time. 

_Look at what I’ve done. This is my fault…all my fault. I didn’t mean to do this, but I did do this, no one else…just me…_

“James. Please. Please let me explain. I can explain-”

“ _Explain_?” James growls. “Oh now you wanna _explain_ some shit now? You think _now_ is the time to actually get down to laying shit out?” 

“I-”

“I’m so sorry, but what happened to all that time before? All of these two fucking months you played me like a fucking fiddle?! Can you tell me why that wasn’t a good time to explain some _possibly_ important shit that I might need to know?!” 

“And you’re right! You’re right! But I swear, I didn’t mean to lie to you-”

“What the fuck does that mean, you ‘didn’t mean to lie to me’?! What, it’s just not fun anymore to lie?! The game is up and now you think it’s a good idea to come clean because you’re bored or some shit?!” 

“No! I just…I mean I didn’t mean to hurt you. This was never about hurting you! Ever! I just…I…”

Anthony trails off helplessly as James’ expression doesn’t change the more he flails for the right words. 

“You just _what_? What was it?!” 

“I just…” 

Anthony takes deep, deep, shuddering breath, and then blurts out, “I didn’t want you to say ‘no’.” 

James stops and just _stares_ at Anthony. His expression goes flat, animated only by the unshed tears swimming those beautiful, beautiful diaspores that are supposed to be warm and humorous. That fury soon comes back in full force and he almost looks like he wants to hit Anthony. But he just slowly shakes his head and turns to rush out of the Baudelaire and onto the sidewalk, shoving past people once more. 

It’s barely a thought as Anthony follows James and he, too, shoves past irritated and indignant people. Desperation boils over in him and he grabs one of James’s hands. “Rh-James, we can-”

James turns and yanks his hand out of Tony’s grip, eyes even more furious and wet. “Keep your fucking hands off of me! You lied to me! You lied to me from the very beginning and it only _just_ occurred to you that maybe you should tell me who you really are?” 

James impatiently swipes the back of his hand across his eyes, and then runs his hand over his head. Several passerby glance at them or openly stare, but neither man spares them a thought. James frantically runs a hand over his hair again and now talks more to himself than Anthony. 

“I can’t believe this. I really can’t believe this. I’ve never been so…so fucking _stupid_ in all goddamn my life”, he whispers, low and frantic. “I fucking danced with you. I ate with you. I watched movies and shows with you. I invited you and welcomed you into my home and my friends’ home. And I kissed you. In front of my apartment. Wow…imagine that. I even fucking _kissed_ your sorry, lyin’ ass. I can’t believe this…” 

Anthony is close to tears now himself. His voice is just as frantic a whisper. “I know. I know and I’m _sorry_. I’m so, _so_ sorry that I lied to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t just come out with it to start with.” 

He reaches his hands out towards James, but he doesn’t touch him again. “But please. Please, you have to believe that all this time we’ve been together that I didn’t lie to you about how I feel about you. _None_ of that part was a lie. I didn’t lie to you about caring for you and-”

“No, no! Of course you didn’t lie about any of that shit, Mr. _Stark_ ”, James lowly hisses. “Of course not. ‘Cause, see, that’s the part where I’m just your fucking pity charity case, right?”

“God, _no_ you’re not-”

“Then how ‘bout your fetish? You got a fetish that you needed sate? Or did one of your friends upstate place a bet?” 

“Oh, hell no! James, I-”

“No? Then maybe I should stop mouthing off to you before you do something really, really bad to me and it’s not even going to be in the papers the next morning”, James spits. 

“James, _no_. Listen to me. Please listen to me”, Anthony pleads. “You are not a charity case or a fetish or a fling or anything like that to me; you never have been and you never will be. And I am not going to hurt you-I could _never_ hurt you. I don’t want to hurt-”

James cuts him off again. “But you could lie to me all this time. You promised me that I was safe with you. You remember that? You _promised_ me I was safe with you over fucking chicken and waffles and smoothies that you don’t sluuuurrrp.” 

Anthony winces deeply and is rendered silent once again at the reminder of their very first teasing together. The very first time he asked James out. 

The very first time he made a promise to James and he’s _broken_ it. 

The very first time James held and examined his hands for the first time and saw that their hands are-

“You say you don’t wanna hurt me and you care about me. Yeah, you fucking care about me. Does something called ‘respect’ go into that lil’ care package of yours too?” James demands. “You know, because respect for someone that you claim to care about just might mean that you tell them all your important truths upfront- _like who you really are_ \- no matter what their answer is? Or does that just not exist over on your side of town?”

Anthony struggles to explain again. “It…it does. It absolutely does. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Rh-James. I do swear to you that I didn’t mean to hurt you and I was going to tell you the truth. I _was_. I just…I just got scared and I…I don’t have a lot of friends back home-”

James’ lips twist in a disbelieving sneer. “You get ‘scared’? People like you get ‘scared’? Of what, rejection? You’re scared of rejection from someone like me? Are friends really all that hard to come by for people like you? Donchu buy them at the brand name shops down the way from your mansion?” 

“N-yes! Yes, friends are hard to come by where I’m from!” 

“Aww, you poor thing! So that makes this whole fucking thing okay, huh? You’re just-”

Anthony snaps. 

“No, this whole fucking thing is _not_ okay!” He bellows. People are staring again and he doesn’t care. “It’s just because you don’t know what it’s like to be me! So many people around me are nothing but fucking sharks! Fucking insincere, insatiable sharks! They see me and they’re just drawn to my money, my looks, my houses, my assets, my fucking everything but _me_!” 

“And I can count on one goddamned hand the number of people that have actually been interested in me and didn’t get bored when it turned out that I’m nothing but a person just like them. It’s been that way all my fucking life!” 

The more Anthony yelled, the higher James’ eyebrows went up and the wider his eyes grew. James puts his hands in his pockets and leans slightly away from the other man. 

James’ voice is a mockingly-awed stage whisper. “…Wow. I can only say… _wow_. That’s what all this was about then, huh? You just wanted a friend so, so bad because of how people treated you just from the way you look and where you come from and all that shit. Yeah, all that shit that you just. Can’t. Help.”

A huge smile that’s on another level of mockery pops onto James face this time. He slips one of his hands out of his pockets and points at Anthony. “And that-no, seriously, _that_ -is something I can never understand. _That_ is something above and beyond anything that I or the majority of people ‘round here go through.” 

Anthony blanches as all traces of anger leave him and he realizes his jackassery. But James steamrolls right past him, spreading his arms wide and looking around as though lost for an answer.

James’ voice is loud and full-blown sarcastic. He, too, doesn’t pay any attention to people’s stares. He exclaims, “ _Gosh motherfucking golly gee!_ Wow! You know what? Congratulations, you’re right! What the _fuck_ do I know about what it’s like to be seen and treated a certain way just because of the way you look and/or where you come from.” 

He laughs, short and chilly, and lets his arms fall back to his sides with a loud _slap_. “Well, shit. Tell me all ‘bout all those nonexistent friends of yours that you can’t put on your damn yacht and all those nonexistent friends of yours that you can’t feed foie gras off of plates worth more than whole goddamn buildings.” 

“Please, please, _please_ educate me about what the fuck it’s like”, James implores. “‘Cause I really wanna know. I tell you, I think that kinda shit right there? If I’m capable of assessing my own life and what comes at me and other people like me? I’m kinda thinking it sounds just a _lil_ better than what I go through. Just a lil. 

He claps once, as though snapping himself out of an incorrect train of thought. “But! I could be wrong! So _you_ set me straight. You look me in the eye and tell me how wrong I am. Tell me all ‘bout it so I actually learn something.” 

Anthony feels wave upon wave of shame and disgust at his own words. He’s once again silent, unable to do much of anything outside of slowly opening and closing his mouth. 

James pushes with mock softness. “What? C’mon. You were going all hot not five minutes ago. C’mon an’ tell me all about it. Pretty sure you know something I don’t about that kind of shit. From what you described, that sounded like a pretty harsh life, Mr. Stark. Can’t begin to imagine it unless you elaborate. So elaborate.” 

He finally finds his voice. “No, I…no, you’re right. I…that was…that was fucking ignorant. I’m… _I’m_ the one that doesn’t know shit about what it’s like for _you_. I…I’m sorry again. I’m so sorry. I’m-”

“Are you sure? Are you really sure you don’t know?” 

“I’m sure. I truly have no idea. I’m sure of that.” 

James raises an eyebrow. “So you want a revolutionary toast of champagne now?” 

“No. No, that doesn’t need a toast of champagne.” Anthony shakes his head, and then sighs heavily. “I want…I just mean that I…I put on a pair of glasses, a hat, and clothes that I don’t wear all that often and I came over here for dance lessons to…get me out a little more.

He sighs heavily again. “They just paired me with you. One minute I was looking at you and the next we were swaying and I...I fell, James. I just fell for you. My friends told me that I should be honest with you soon and, afterwards, I-I kept telling myself I was going to tell you every time I came to see you, but I never did. I was selfish. Unacceptably selfish.” 

This time, the sneer curling James’ mouth is full of revulsion. “…You ‘fell’ for me? Why _me_? What do you want with me?” 

At that demand, Anthony finds himself struggling with how to work his mouth again. Even if James gave him all night to answer, that question is too small for Anthony to realistically explain the scale of just how much he wants to do with the other man. Just as with Rumiko, it wasn’t a question of what he’s afraid of, but what he isn’t afraid of…so now it’s not a question of what he does want with James, but what he _doesn’t_ want with James. 

What doesn’t he want with the other man? 

Anthony wants so, so much with James than he could ever verbally articulate. 

Still, he has to try. 

So he does. His voice is just on the edge of hoarse with longing and sincerity. 

“Just you. I want you. Just your…your friendship, your companionship. I want…this”, he says, gesturing all around them. “Where we go see movies and cartoons together and club together and eat together and dance together. I want to know more of you and have fun with you. I want to spend more time with your friends and eventually call them my own. I want you to be able to do the same with mine soon, too. 

“I want…” Anthony trails off as he flails for words. “I just want you.” 

As Anthony spoke, James face went from repulsed to purely incredulous. And no matter how much sincerity Anthony poured into his words, James only looked more and more incredulous. 

James’ eyes are still much too bright with anger and hurt as they search Anthony’s face. But also within James’ eyes is a quiet, hesitant pensiveness. 

Anthony rushes forward to keep explaining, to keep pressing any potential advantage. “And like I said, you have nothing- _nothing_ -to fear from me. Absolutely nothing at all. I know I lied and I know you feel like…like you never knew me at all and we…we come from completely different worlds, which I just…fucking disregarded and disrespected like an ass. I know.” 

He steps closer to James and presses a hand to his chest. Right over his heart…where James’ placed his hand not all that long ago. “But…it’s _me_ , James. The…the person you see in the newspapers and hear about on the radio aren’t me. That’s…that’s not really me, that’s just…just how I survive in my world, how I get by. But when I’m around you, I’m…I’m _me_ , I’m myself. This is how I really am. Even right now, it’s me. Nothing’s changed about that.” 

He presses his hand into his chest. “You _know_ me.” 

James is completely quiet, now. His lips are slightly parted as his eyes search Anthony’s face, flitting over Anthony’s open, earnest expression like a hummingbird. Several expressions cross James’ face as he studies the other man. Disgust. Fear. Confusion. Indecisiveness. More hurt. 

James’ face finally settles on a stony resignation. He wraps his arms around his middle and steps back from the other man. 

James shakes his head. His voice is low and resolute. “No. I don’t know you.” 

Those five little words stab and twist something sharp and jagged deep, deep into Anthony’s heart. His mouth drops open and he stares helplessly at James with wide, damp eyes. His hands tremble at his sides with the urge to touch James-to _reach out_ to James. He wants desperately to say something-anything-to make this better somehow, but that thing deep, deep in his heart has created a vacuum in his chest that makes all the necessary air vanish. 

It’s several more times of Anthony struggling and failing to catch his breath before he can articulate something. 

“James, I-please”, he hoarsely implores. “Please let me fix this. I can fix this.”

The only change in James’ expression is a slight rising of his eyebrows. “You really wanna fix this?” 

“ _Yes_. More than I’ve wanted to fix anything in a long, long time.”

“Then leave. Get out of Harlem. Get away from me. And stay away. Now.” 

James’s words firmly embed that stabbing, twisting thing in Anthony’s heart. A shock so icy that it burns shoots up his spine and radiates out to the rest of his body. It burns and burns until Anthony can do nothing but stay rooted in the spot where he stands while the pain ricochets all throughout his body.

And James is all but stone. Tight, closed stone and his eyes stare at the other man as though he’s a stranger that never should’ve knocked on his door in the first place. 

A stranger. 

Maybe the burning pain becomes just an ounce more manageable or maybe it becomes so impossibly unbearable that makes Anthony finally able to move. Anthony lifts one hand as though to touch James’ face just one last time…but merely closes it, making the gesture resemble something of a parting wave. 

Anthony steps back and, voice just on the edge of strangled, whispers, “Goodbye, James.” 

He turns and walks away without another word, silently slipping through and by other people. 

James stays still and watches him go. He watches him all the way until the image of the other man’s back is swallowed up by the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk. 

Until he’s gone. 

James’ lungs let out a heavy, harsh breath as brand new, stinging tears leap into his eyes. He’s all but standing perfectly still, but he can’t catch his breath. 

He can’t catch his breath. 

And he’s panting. Loudly. Erratically.

His eyes won’t stop brimming with tears. 

Maybe there are still some people that are staring at him or at least stealing glances, but James can’t spare them a single thought. His trembling hands feel like they belong to someone else as he tugs at his bowtie in a futile attempt to get air. 

In the next second, he turns around and rushes to get back home. He doesn’t know if he has to shove past people again or if they just move out of his way this time; he doesn’t know if he can barely see anything because his recurring nausea is making everything dizzy or his spilling tears are making everything blurry. 

He doesn’t know. 

He just has to get home. 

James vaguely hears about two or three concerned people ask him if he’s alright, if he’s hurt, if he wants them to hail a taxi for him. But he hurries past them with barely so much as a glance. By now, he has to wipe at the spilled tears and sniffles every few seconds. 

It takes less than the blink of an eye and an eternity for James to make it back home to East Harlem. Some small part in the back of his brain is grateful that he encounters none of his neighbors as he flies up the stairs to his apartment. When he finally reaches his door, he wants nothing more than to just collapse right in front of it and never get back up again; his hands that don’t feel like his still tremble as he forces himself to unlock and open the door. He somehow remembers not to slam it, lest he disturb someone else. 

Once inside, that trembling increases full-force throughout his body and the world feels rocked off its axis. James stumbles into his bedroom as he forcibly sheds his tuxedo. He still can’t breathe. 

He has to get out of it. 

He has to get out. 

James yanks his bowtie undone and tosses it carelessly to the ground. Next is the jacket. The goddamned vest underneath. He undoes the top three buttons of his white shirt as he sinks to the floor beside his bed. His body is still trembling, but he’s sure he’ll breathe again soon. 

He brings a hand up to cover his mouth as he all but sobs on the floor. Once again, he wraps his free arm around his middle, but it’s more in an attempt to ground himself and to stop the earth from spinning off-kilter. That small part in the back of James’ brain suggests that he’d feel better if he got up soon to take a shower, brush his teeth, and hop in bed as soon as possible. Yes, that would make him feel better and…and tomorrow could come another day. 

A fresh, new day. 

But James can only sit and cry on his bedroom floor. He doesn’t know how long he stays there; he could only guess it’s quite a while by the eventual sweet, exhausted burn of his eyes and all traces of trembling vanishing from his body until his muscles feel heavy and languid. 

He wipes at his eyes for the nth time and a single, quiet word escapes his mouth. 

_“Goodbye.”_

-

Harlem as a whole is still loud and celebrating, still high and giddy over the Silver Curtain. There’s not a single night when the nightclub isn’t fully booked, when its brick walls don’t dance and vibrate from the roaring cheer and applause. The Silver Curtain is still just about all everyone and anyone can talk about. 

Summer is in full-swing. Harlem’s people walk the sidewalks sporting smoothies and ice cream cones and yogurts and iced tea and every other kind of refreshing delight in-between. Children still play and frolic in fire hydrants after they finish their treats from the ice cream man. 

But James is quiet. Withdrawn. 

When James woke up the next Saturday morning, the discarded pieces of his tuxedo were cleared up from the floor; he could hear water running in his bathroom; and smell breakfast cooking in his kitchen. 

And Monica was hugging him. 

All James could do was tried to blink away his sleepiness and hug her back. He took in the heavenly feel of her satin head wrap over her hair rollers and her favorite leopard robe. She smelled like she always did first thing in the morning: fresh cocoa butter, Madame CJ Walker, and the scent of Charles in his distinct aftershave and books. James buried his head into her shoulder and just _breathed_. In response, Monica simply rubbed his back and held him closer. 

Monica didn’t ask any questions; she didn’t say anything at all. She just held him for a long, long time before getting up and shutting the water off in his bathroom. The next thing he knew, she came back, helped him up, and ushered him into the bathroom to take a…bubble bath. James inhaled the scent of lavender and lilac, one of Monica’s favorite bubble bath scents. He saw clean clothes already laid out for him on his sink and knew better than to try to take his usual quick ten minutes, much less try to argue with her. 

When he got out a little less than half an hour later, he saw that his other best friend was the one cooking all three of them breakfast. Charles smiled softly at him and hugged him warmly. And Charles smelled like he always did first thing in the morning: his favorite aftershave , clean cotton sheets, aged books, and everything that is Monica. He, too, didn’t ask any questions; he didn’t say anything at all. 

Breakfast featured some of James’ favorites: grits mixed with grape jelly, straight black coffee with an ass load of sugar, and sausage. 

And when James tried to do his usual in helping clean up the dishes, Monica and Charles gave him a look. So James promptly took his ass out of his kitchen and read through his collection of old airplane magazines. 

James becomes much less quiet and withdrawn over the next few days. By Monday, he’s able to engage in the comfy ebb and flow of the banter at the shop with nary anyone suspecting a thing. And when James is off work the following Tuesday’s morning and afternoon…he feels quietly proud of himself that he doesn’t feel like something is missing. 

That he doesn’t feel like he’s supposed to be somewhere other than home. 

He sits in one of his windows, serenely reading one of Charles’ books and nursing a nearly-empty cup of tea. James alternates between that and looking out his window and down the street; he smiles at the children shouting and playing baseball. He smiles again when it’s a neighbor or two coming from running errands and stopping to chat and catch up. 

He turns back to his book when it’s a couple strolling down the sidewalk and holding hands. 

James has been reading his book for about half an hour when Monica comes in. She has a large key lime smoothie from Mrs. Hagen’s that she pushes into James’ free hand. He beams gratefully up at her. 

“Moni…thank you. Really. You and Charles. _Thank you._ ” He stresses. “But ‘M gon’ be alright. Honestly.” 

“Ain’ nobody said you weren’t, James.” Monica leans down to press a lingering kiss on his forehead. “Ain’ nobody said you weren’t.” 

-

James slowly wakes up to the sound of low, frantic murmuring just outside his apartment door. As he becomes more alert, he can tell that there are people not just outside his door, but all throughout the hallway. He rolls over and listens closer, but he still can’t make out anything distinguishable; the only thing he hears is the consistent franticness of the people talking. 

Something is wrong. 

Very, very wrong. 

He tosses the covers off himself, pulls on his pajama pants, and walks out of his apartment. Immediately, he sees that he was right: the hallway _is_ full of his neighbors. Quite a few people glance at him as he comes deeper into the crowd. James is still sleepy and so he can barely figure out what the hell could’ve woken just about everyone up in the middle of the night. 

He soon picks out Monica and Charles towards the middle of the crowd, standing near Mrs. Bankley and Mr. Dave Richards. Monica has a coat and cloche hat hastily thrown over her nightgown and head wrap while Charles has a light jacket over his pajamas. They’re both wearing shoes and they meet his eyes at the same time he meets theirs. James groggily makes his way towards them. As we comes closer to them and wakes up more and more, he realizes that their faces are just shy of ashen, just like nearly everyone else here. 

“W-wha’s going on? What’s happening?” James asks. 

Monica opens her mouth to reply, but no sound comes out. Charles is in much the same predicament, but he soon manages to answer the other man. 

“I…it’s something…something’s happened…not all of us are… _sure_ yet, but it’s…” He trails off, shaking his head slowly as though struggling to wrap his mind around that…something. 

Mr. Dave leans heavily on his cane and clears his throat. “Ya’ll kids…may wanna get on up there to really see f’yuhsevles. I think it’s finally safe for you t’go by now.” 

Mrs. Bankley’s eyes are cautious, but she nods in agreement. “Yeah, we all heard that other Colored folk have gone up there, too. Ain’ nothin’ happened to them, else we would’ve heard ‘bout it by now.” 

Monica grasps his arm in a tight, tight grip. She looks at him with eyes that are somehow both distant and intense. “James, y-you come with us. You come with Charles an’ me, okay? C’mon.” 

James nods and rushes as fast as he can back to his apartment. He hastily slips on shoes and a jacket. When he comes back out, he goes straight back to Monica and Charles, and all three of them head out of their apartment complex. As they walk out onto the street, James struggles to ignore the chill settling into his stomach from the passing looks of worry and sympathy their neighbors give them and others that are leaving. 

The three of them say not a word as they hurry up to 126th. All around them are fellow Colored folk in similar states of dress: robes, jackets, coats, and hats hastily thrown over rumpled sleepwear. A few cars rush past them, uncaring of speed limits. Up ahead, they think they hear someone let out a scream and they keep walking, they keep going-

The Chez de Baudelaire is destroyed. 

Every last one of its windows is shattered, the broken remains of their panes and glass scattered across the sidewalk or otherwise surely littering the floor inside. The windows’ maroon curtains are desecrated; some of them clearly had knives repeatedly slashed through them, others are burned to charred scraps, and still others are outright missing. And in the windowsills, the once beautiful, vibrant beds of flowers look to be violently ripped out of their soil; the beds themselves look to be torn and smashed apart with bricks. Someone even took the time to rip the colorful petals from their stems and throw them apart until they lay like a disembodied graveyard amongst the carnage of the broken windowpanes and glass. 

The double doors are heavily egged and stained with what could be…beer. One of the doors is all but ripped off its hinges and leans haphazardly into the other. All over the building, many of the Baudelaire’s light-beige bricks are stained, dented, and/or chipped. Quite a few of them are even scraped and completely cut out from the rest of the structure. 

And the thin, black block letters spelling out the name of the club are destroyed, too. Some of the letters are chipped, dented and sport egg and…beer, just like the doors. Others have been torn or bashed from their holding and so they lay on the sidewalk, cracked and shattered until they’re barely recognizable. Every single last light that was once behind the letters are unlit. 

One can peek around to look inside the doors and be unsurprised at what they glimpse: tables and chairs overturned and oftentimes outright broken; the petite pendant lights and teeny domed lanterns smashed, the shards of their bulbs strewn across the speckled floor; the stage curtain slashed and burnt like those of the windows; and the staircase and balconies splintered and tarnished with egg. 

In front the destruction is the joint owners of the Baudelaire: Mr. and Mrs. Lacoste. The elderly couple clings tightly to each other as they cry out in their native Creole. James, Monica, and Charles all move to help them, but there are already people hurrying to the two with blankets in their hands and tears in their eyes. 

Monica lifts a shaking hand to her throat. “I…if it’s…if the Baudelaire is…then that means…” 

Charles immediately shakes his head and wraps a tight, warm arm around her shoulders. “No, Moni. Probably not at all. I’m sure…” 

But Charles trails off as he catches James’ eyes following more people rushing up 126th, while others flock back to 125th and 124th. There are more screams. More cries. 

James tries to swallow down the tremors in his voice, but they still come up. “M-maybe we should…just to see…maybe we should check the…the other places.” 

Monica and Charles share a look with him for all of a few seconds, and then they’re joining the other people up and down the street. They first head a bit farther-just a _little bit_ farther-up 126th, past the Baudelaire. Their hearts pound with tentative hope and swelling fear. 

But the Rare Sapphire, one of the dozens of unsegregated sister clubs, is just as much destroyed as the Baudelaire. As is the Blue Pavilion. And the Chez de Crayon. The Solstice. The Edmonton & Stanton. 

The three of them somehow dredge up the energy to take a detour and head back towards 125th. Their hearts sink and sink as they continue to see the same destruction on the way. By this time, there are even more people out like they are, rushing about in their hastily-covered pajamas, demanding to know what happened- _how_ this could’ve happened-and otherwise being shocked into silence. 

There is not a single unsegregated club that has not been vandalized and destroyed. 

Every single segregated club is undamaged, untouched. 

Monica, Charles, and James keep hurrying through 125th. They hurtle to a stop in front of the Hennessy Ballroom. 

“Oh, no”, James gasps, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “ _Jesus Christ_ , no…” 

All three stories of the Hennessy Ballroom are devastated. Just about every inch of its smooth, cream-colored exterior is defaced with egg, fruit, and toilet paper. What were once the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows are now gaping black holes with jagged remains of glass around their edges. And just as with the Baudelaire their curtains look to have been equal parts slashed and burned. A great deal of the windows’ glass clutters the sidewalk. 

Directly in front, the revolving doors are completely demolished and lay in a tortuous heap of broken glass and twisted frames. Every single one of the block letters making up the ballroom’s name have been knocked off or ripped out of their holds; some of their disfigured remains litter the buttress while others lay among the wreckage of the revolving doors. 

The worst of the carnage on the sidewalk are the several chandeliers that look to have been heaved out of the windows and thrown to the ground outside. Almost all of them lay in fragmented, sharp heaps of glass and crystal and bulbs strewn across the Hennessy’s block. Even two or three of the turntables were tossed out; they lay on their sides, splintered and broken. 

And Ms. Luanne is up ahead with her family in tow. She, too, covers her mouth with her hand as she sobs inconsolably in her sister’s arms. 

Charles slowly shakes his head, an all-consuming numbness in his eyes. “I don’t…I can’t believe this.”

“The Hennessy?” Monica breathes disbelievingly. Her eyes glisten with the beginnings of tears. “They really got _Hennessy_ , too? Along with all the other ones? Then that-”

James softly cuts her off. “No, Moni. No. I don’t…I don’ think so. Look, let’s just head on back home back home for the time bein’. Get some rest-”

Monica shakes her head, already turning in the direction to go back to 126th. “ _No._ I have t-to see. I gotta see. I gotta go.” 

James pleadingly meets Charles’ eyes over Monica’s head. But Charles’ face tells him what he should’ve already known: though Monica would rather not, she will go all the way back up there by herself if she has to. And so they’d better come with her if for no other reason than to help her get back home, if need be. 

So they turn and follow Monica. Each of them take one of her hands and hold on tight. Though Monica’s eyes are staring straight ahead, she grasps their hands just as tightly. 

There are still more fellow Colored people rushing up 126th alongside them. The three of them are all but breathless, but they keep going; they don’t stop. Almost there…almost there…

Their hearts sink right down to the ground as they come upon the biggest crowd of people yet on the Silver Curtain’s block. There is more shouting, more crying. From Monica, Charles, and James’ vantage point, they can already tell before they somehow make their way to the front…they can already _see_ …

Monica lets out a wail the likes of which Charles and James will not forget even on their deathbed. She almost falls to the littered ground in tears, save for Charles’ quick arms catching her and holding her close. James puts a shaking hand on both their shoulders. 

The Silver Curtain Club is all but demolished. Just as with all the other unsegregated clubs and the Hennessy, the letters making up its name are forcibly uprooted. Their fractured pieces are strewn all over the defaced granite steps and the sidewalk. Alongside the club’s corners, each and every one of the large, round lightbulbs have been shattered apart by bricks; some of the lightbulbs flicker and spark erratically from the damage. The windows have been smashed in. 

All over, the club’s burgundy and wine bricks are heavily scraped, dented, and/or viciously hollowed out. Over their impaired bodies is a defacing coat of egg, fruit, and toilet paper. Both of the double doors have been completely ripped off their hinges and lay in a haphazard heap on the front steps. 

Monica slowly, painfully disengages from Charles and James. She bends down to carefully pick out a piece of a letter from the wreckage. From its curviness, she guesses that it belonged to the “S” and she cradles it in her hand. Her eyes lift from staring at the letter and search the crowd for Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey. Charles and James search with her and when they find no sign of them, they make the hurried but careful trek into the club. 

“Bailey?! Ms. Chaucer?!” Monica calls out frantically. “Where are you? Ya’ll alright?” 

The two co-owners stand near the vandalized stage alongside several of Monica’s fellow performers and other staff. They turn to see Monica, Charles, and James and wave at them. Ms. Chaucer’s eyes are red-rimmed with tears and Bailey’s face is so ashen that he looks just shy of a ghost. 

And all around them, the inside of the Silver Curtain is just as destroyed. Up on the stage the curtain lays in tattered remains, half slashed through and half burned and charred. There is not a single table or chair that’s not turned over and/or broken and splintered; the tablecloths are shredded into innumerable pieces. A great deal of the chandeliers is in the same state as the Hennessy’s: thrown to the floor, their bodies smashed and scattered into jagged shards of glass and crystal. Egg and toilet paper mars every pillar. 

The three of them meet Ms. Chaucer and Bailey halfway. 

Ms. Chaucer clutches the lapels of her robe to her neck. Her blotchy eyes sweep over them with concern. “Are ya’ll three kids alrigh’? Ain’ none a’ya’ll hurt?”

Charles shakes his head. “We’re not hurt at all.” 

James agrees, “Yeah, we’re okay. We just…our neighbors woke us up and…here we are.” 

“And you two?” Monica asks. “You two are okay, too? And everyone else in an’ around here?” 

Mr. Bailey nods as he glances back at the other people. His face is still ashen. “Yeah, I...I think that no one is hurt. Er’yone is alrigh’ both here and prolly in the other places, too.” 

Ms. Chaucer and Mr. Bailey share a look. And Monica already knows what they’re going to say before they turn back to her. 

She already knows and she tries to beat them to it. 

“B-but Ms. Chaucer, Bailey, it ain’ gotta be this way!” Monica tearfully cries. “We can fight back against this. Hell, whatchu think always goes on in the South-?!”

Bailey sighs sadly and shakes his head. “Ms. Monica, hon…we could, but it’d take weeks-maybe even _months_ for us to come up with the means to fix e’rything up an’ _then_ think of a way to make sure this won’ happen again. I-it’s…honey, it’s already money we don’ have jus’ to make it right again.” 

Monica is about to tearfully protest again when Ms. Chaucer lays a warm, gentle hand on her shoulder and just as gently shushes her. 

“Darlin’, it ain’ healthy f’you to be here right now; I can already see you losin’ color in your face there. So how ‘bout you get yourself on home wit’ Charles an’ James, hmm?” She squeezes Monica’s tense shoulder. “Get you somethin’ nice an’ hot to drink and then collar a nod.” 

Charles and James immediately nod in agreement. Charles places his hands on Monica’s upper arms and James takes one of her hands in his. 

“They’re right, Monica”, Charles says. “Tomorrow comes another day and, in the meantime, you should rest.” 

James tugs on her hand. “Yeah, let’s-”

But Monica jerks herself out of their hold and rounds on them. Her eyes are finally spilling their tears. “Ya’ll, _no!_ We gotta do somethin’; something’s gotta be done! We can’t jus’ go home an’-!”

“Oh, now _this_ is just unfortunate. All of this is just quite simply unfortunate.” 

Every single person stops and turns at the sound of Stanley Conway’s mocking voice. The man is not at all in pajamas; he wears his trademark sharply pressed, expensive suit, shined shoes, and bowler hat. He twirls an unlit cigar between his fingers. His eyes once again land on Monica and they’re triply chilly and eerie above his mocking smile. 

Conway fishes his monogrammed lighter out of his pocket. “I, too, saw the messes all over. And it’s all such a _terrible_ mess, too. Simply terrible. I can understand why you’re so upset, Ms. Lynne; a great many other people are upset, as well.” 

“And so because I understand why and how upset you are…” He pauses to put his lighter back in his pocket, and then take a few puffs from his cigar. “I just came to inform you that I’ve already called the police…a good, long while ago.” 

Conway smiles again and there’s a white-hot burning coldness in the air of the Silver Curtain at the sheer _cruelty_. 

“So, yes, I agree with your two bosses, Ms. Lynne: do try to and get some sufficient sleep.” His icy eyes sweep over the rest of the people in the club. “And I’m quite sure the rest of you would do well to follow suit. Goodnight.” 

And when Conway leaves, chuckling all the way, that coldness is still there. 

-

It barely takes the next afternoon for the news of the carnage up and down 124th, 125th, and 126th to spread. The news sends wave upon wave of collective fear and grief over the next three days. What was once the hopeful and celebratory atmosphere brought upon by the Silver Curtain’s opening has died into a deafening, stifling hurt and despair. Even when the summer day is perfectly clear and sunny, a heavy, heavy pall smothers all of Harlem. 

People talk of packing up and leaving. The violent destruction they see before their naked eyes is the same violent destruction a great many of them thought they left behind in the papers. 

In the South. 

A steady trickle of people does indeed leave. They pack up what they have, carpool, and flee to the other boroughs of New York. A great many flock to the open arms of friends and family in Chinatown and Little Italy; they stay in the teeny pockets of those communities where Black folk are readily welcomed and accepted. Still others talk of pulling out of New York altogether and heading perhaps for the West and Midwest.

And Monica…

Charles and James have never seen their Monica cry so much before in their lives. She cries and cries and cries and it’s only by the grace of staying in a numbed state of functioning that they manage to tag-team in caring for her while keeping themselves together. And even when she’s not crying, it’s difficult to try and get her to eat, to sleep, to take one of her beloved bubble baths. 

One night, she holds her head in her hands and tearfully worries, “What am I gonna do? What’re _we_ gonna do?!” 

“Now, now, Moni”, Charles soothes. He tenderly wipes at her tears and gives her a soft smile. “We’ll be alright; we’ve been alright up until this point-”

She shakes her head. “But my job, Charles! With the Silver Curtain gone, I lost my _job!_ And there isn’t no other place close enough where I can prolly start again an’ get ‘bout the same salary! We all thought life was lookin’ up for once, but now how we gon’ do this?!” 

James comes in the doorway with a steaming cup of tea for her. He gives her the same soft smile that Charles did. “That’s gon’ be alright, Moni. It is. ‘Cause see, I still have my job at the shop and I can always ask Henry for more hours. That’ll hold us over.” 

Charles nods, grateful for James backing him up. He dabs at her cheeks. “That’s right. Plus, my job starts in just a few months. We have James to help us. In addition to that, we have our savings to fall back on; if we could use that to spend a bit on righteous rags, then we’ll certainly be able to live off of it until we figure something out-”

Monica pulls away from his touch. “But I don’t _want_ for us to figure somethin’ out anymore! We were past having to figure shit out, but now…”

She collapses into more tears and it’s all Charles and James can do not to collapse with her. 

-

James is in a deep, exhausted sleep on his best friends’ couch when a loud pounding sounds at the door. He slowly, grumpily comes out of his slumber and sits up. 

“…What the hell is it now?” He grumbles to himself. 

To the door, he calls out, “‘M comin’!” 

Monica and Charles are awoken by the pounding, too. James spots their worried, sleepy faces in their bedroom’s doorway. Charles barely has his glasses situated atop his nose and Monica’s eyes are still puffy with past tears. He waves a placating hand at them. 

“Naw, ya’ll”, he yawns. “I’ll handle this. Jus’ g-go back t’sleep.” 

They go back inside their bedroom, though James doubts they’ll actually fall back asleep. That pounding starts up again and he mumbles tiredly to himself as he stumbles to the front door.

He opens the door to find Mrs. Bankley on the other side of it. One hand is lifted mid-door pounding and the other clutches at her robe. Her dark brown eyes are wide and there’s a smile playing at the edges of her mouth. 

A smile full of…wonder. 

As James (unwillingly) wakes up more and more, he notices several of their other neighbors behind her. His heart picks up at the thought they bring even worse bad news, but…there’s that wonder in Mrs. Bankley’s smile that tells him otherwise. 

There’s that wonder in just about all of his neighbors’ faces. 

“Darlin’, why you still asleep?” Mrs. Bankley asks, her voice high. “You, Moni, and Charles ain’ heard the news yet?!”

James stares at her for all of ten seconds before dragging a sloppy hand down his tired, groggy face. 

“…Mrs. Bankley. Wit’ all due respect, we haven’ heard nothin’ about anything ‘cause most people ain’ readin’ anything in the papers on a weekend…” He pauses to read the clock in the kitchen. “…at just a _quarter to six in the mornin’._ ” 

Mrs. Bankley shakes her head. “Oh, but baby, this news ain’t in no papers! This here news is happenin’ _right now_ and it’s been a’spreadin’ all up West and East Harlem all by itself! Y’should wake up Monica and Charles and take ‘em with you up there to West Harlem!” 

James rubs the back of his neck and glances back inside the apartment. His eyes drift to Monica and Charles’ cracked bedroom door. Even if they have gone back to bed, he knows that they’re definitely still awake and listening in with bated breath. James own breath dances on the edge of becoming bated and…

Whatever news this is…it can wait. 

It can wait until later, when they have enough space and strength to deal with it. 

It can wait. 

But Mrs. Bankley reads his face before he even turns back to her to say as much. She reaches forward to gently squeeze his bicep, that wondrous smile still playing on her lips. 

“James, son, _it’s alrigh’_. You can trust me wit’ that, now.” She squeezes his bicep again before letting it go. “Tell Monica that ‘specially-there ain’t _nothin’_ to worry about on this morning. I mean it; I’m not beatin’ up my gums here.” 

James’ breath came down at the feeling of her hand, warm and steady, on his arm. He can find not a hint of anything outside of sincerity on her face. His eyes trail behind her and he sees…that same sincerity on all the other neighbors’ faces. 

He swallows and looks back at Mrs. Bankley. “Okay. So it ain’ somethin’ to beat up gums over and it ain’ somethin’ that’s gonna make anyone blow a top?” 

Mrs. Bankley shakes her head. 

“Alrigh’”, James sighs. “But are you _sure_ it can’t jus’ wait ‘till later in the mornin’?”

Mrs. Bankley shakes her head again, this time more vigorously. “Oh, no, no, hon! You wanna go on an’ see this _now_. ‘M telling you-grab Moni and Charles, throw some clothes on, an’ get yourselves on up to the West!”

James drags his hand down his face again. “…‘Kay. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to get Moni an’ Charles up there, but I’ll go up there, alrigh’?” 

“Great, James! But please do your best t’get Monica an’ Charles, too! You ain’ gon’ regret it!” 

He gives a tired smile to Mrs. Bankley. And when he finally closes the door and turns back into the apartment, he sees his best friends standing nervously in the living room. Monica’s face is just shy of ashen and her puffy eyes look just about ready to start up again. 

Monica delicately touches her hand to her neck. “Sh-she said it’s alright? It’s _okay_? Ain’ nothin’ t-to worry about…?” 

Charles wraps her up in a hug from behind as James nods in the affirmative. 

The three of them stare at each other from across the room…and then they’re hastening around to get properly dressed. Hell, if it’s really nothing to worry about-if it’s really actual _good_ news then it can at least wait for them to put some actual clothes on. Monica slips into James’ apartment to get to her cloche hat collection in his closet; James and Charles are lazier as James just pulls out clothes to wear from Charles’ dresser. 

They meet each other in the hallway, and then they’re headed out. It’s silent between them as they hurry for West Harlem. There are fellow Colored folk all around them hurrying in the same direction and they try not to feel a dreaded sense of déjà vu at the sight. They hurry…hurry, hurry, hurry…

And stop and stare at what they see. 

The Chez de Baudelaire is being repaired. 

Construction and other workers are going double-time in restoring the Baudelaire to what it was. Monica, Charles, and James stare wide-eyed as one of the workers replaces the windowsill flowerbeds with brand new ones that look exactly like the ones before. Their eyes only go wider as they then plant the Baudelaire’s exact same fucking flowers in: particularly bright pink cherry blossoms; stark white peonies; dark-red lilies; and lavender begonias. 

Still another man is hard at work sweeping up the mess from the sidewalk while two more strenuously work together to reinstall brand new double doors that are exactly the same as the ones before. Another few carry in tables, chairs, and lights through the Baudelaire’s back and side entrances; others studiously repair and replace the outside bricks. 

And in front of this are Mr. and Mrs. Lacoste looking tired, but with that wonder on their faces, and giving directions to two men lugging boxes full of new pendant lights. 

Monica, Charles, and James all share a look and, hearts in their throats, head for 125th Street. But they find themselves walking slower because every single other unsegregated club is being repaired. 

Every single one. 

And when they finally get to 125th Street, they see that it’s the same for the Hennessy Ballroom. They watch, slack-jawed as construction workers install the same pristine floor-to-ceiling windows and others carry in the new curtains to go with them. There are ladders stretching to all three levels of the Hennessy’s body as construction workers scrub and clear away the mess; another set places pails of paint next to the ladders to restore the ballroom to its original cream color once the mess is gone. The shortest ladders stretch to the buttress, where men are painstakingly replacing each letter in the Hennessy Ballroom’s name. 

The mess that was once the revolving door has been completely cleared away and a team of three men install a brand new one…that is exactly the same as the one before. A huge truck carrying boxes of chandeliers and turntables ambles up the street and the driver waves to a softly smiling Ms. Luanne for further instructions. 

Monica, Charles, and James join the rest of the crowd on the other side of the street watching the happenings. It’s Monica that eventually breaks away to speak to Ms. Luanne herself; her boys follow her. 

Monica waves at the older woman. “Ms. Luanne! Please, Ms. Luanne!” 

Ms. Luanne turns and, upon seeing Monica, smiles even more broadly. She smiles at James and Charles in turn. “Oh! Why, it’s none other than the amazin’ Ms. Monica Lynne! What a pleasure! Good mornin’, dear!” 

“Good mornin’ to you, too, Ms. Luanne”, Monica returns. Her eyes sweep over the Hennessy before returning to the other woman. “W-what’s goin’ on here? How…how did this happen?” 

“Well, I…honestly couldn’t really tell you, Ms. Lynne. ‘M afraid I’m still tryna figure that out myself”, she says. Her eyes, too, sweep over her ballroom. “Why, I only got the call jus’ yesterday that my ballroom is gon’ be fixed immediately at no cost to me. All they wanted were my blueprints an’ to see if I could get up early ‘nough to start givin’ directions for the repairs.” 

James blinks. “All they wanted…were your blueprints? Your instructions? That’s it?” 

“And this is at _no_ cost to you whatsoever?” Charles asks. 

Ms. Luanne nods, her own face looking like it’s still getting over its initial shock. “Yes, indeed. Ain’ none a’this outta my pocket.” She jerks her chin over their heads. “I hear it’s the same wit the other places, too: they ain’ payin’ not a single dime. And all a’these here workers are so _polite_ -especially the Mister Charlies. Ain’ never really seen anythin’ like it.” 

They watch two men cart a huge, huge box carrying a chandelier into the ballroom. 

James gives a low whistle. “I bet _those_ cost a whole lot more than a dime.” 

“ _Oh_ , they do. But I for one ain’ set to find that out for a second time”, Ms. Luanne laughs. 

They laugh with her. 

And they didn’t think they’d be able to find a true, heartfelt reason to laugh so soon. But they have and here they are. 

They’re laughing with Ms. Luanne Griffons of the Hennessy Ballroom. 

One of the men asks her where she wants the new tables situated. She smiles at them once more. “Well, I gotta go an’…keep on givin’ directions, I ‘spose. But, Ms. Lynne? I think you’d do well to head on up to the Silver Curtain; I hear it’s gettin’ its due in justice as well. Ya’ll stay safe, now!” 

And with that, she’s gone to deal with the man. 

Monica delicately touches her hand to her chest. She’s nearly breathless as she whispers, “…Could it really, really be true, though? Th-they’re doin’ the Silver Curtain right, too?” 

Charles and James both put a hand on her back and give a hesitant smile. 

“It would surely have to be if everything else is being fixed, Moni”, Charles assures her. 

James nods. “Yeah. I don’ see why that wouldn’ happen, either. Besides, if Ms. Luanne heard ‘bout it, then you know it must be true.” 

Monica takes a deep breath and nods. They turn to visit the Silver Curtain. 

And when they get there, they see that it _is_ true. Absolutely, totally true. 

All three of them are rendered still and quiet as they just stare from the other side of the street. They watch men flit all over Monica’s palace in hard work. The lightbulbs are being replaced. The doors are being cleaned and refitted onto their hinges. Brand new chandeliers, chairs, tables, and a huge, huge stage curtain are being carried inside. 

They carefully cross the street, and then Monica slowly approaches one of the men that sweep the ground. He’s a Mister Charlie that hums quietly to himself as he works. 

He looks up as Monica approaches and smiles. “Oh, ‘scuse me, miss! You might wanna be careful walkin’ around here! You could cut yourself; there’s still a bit of broken glass and whatnot lyin’ around.” 

Monica stops and openly gawks at him. He shifts under her gaze and his smile turns awkward. 

She finally finds her voice and asks, “Why…why’re you doin’ this?” 

The man’s awkwardness doubles; his eyes dart around and his mouth open and close as he tries to form an answer. “W-well…miss, it’s…it’s my…job. Same as all these other workers here. We’re up a bit earlier than usual, but we’re gettin’ our extra pay for that. And, uhh…well, this is our current job.” 

James tilts his head. “But who’s paying you to do this? Who’s in charge of you?” 

At this question, the man is struggling not to look at the three of them like they’re aliens. “Uhh, our…bosses.” 

Charles leans in, his eyebrow raised. “But who told your _boss_ to do this? And on such short notice, too?” 

He completely looks at them like they’re aliens now. “I…sir? Miss? ‘M sorry, but that I don’ know. I don’ think any of us know that; we just…we’re jus’ working. We’re just doin’ our jobs.”

He clears his throat and goes back to sweeping the sidewalk. 

There’s nothing else for Monica, Charles, and James to do but carefully trek their way to the front of the Silver Curtain. They easily spot Ms. Chaucer in the crowd and she holds what looks like a small stack of papers in her hands. She hands one of those papers to one of Monica’s fellow performers, and then looks up and sees them and waves. 

They meet Ms. Chaucer halfway. Monica wraps the woman in a tight, tight hug; it’s warmly returned. 

“Ms. Chaucer, you alrigh’? It’s still true that ain’ nobody hurt, right?” Monica softly asks. 

Ms. Chaucer gives her a squeeze and then pulls away with a smile. “Oh yes, darlin’. Everythin’ is jus’ fine an’ then some.” She rifles through the papers for a moment, and then hands one of them to Monica. “This is yours, hon.” 

Monica stares for the nth time this morning at the paper in her hands. Her boys stare at it over her shoulder. 

It is a check. 

Penned and signed by Stanley Conway. 

Her eyes fly up to Ms. Chaucer and the older woman explains, “That’s your reimbursement check for all the money y’lost while the Silver Curtain was out. You add it up, baby, and you’ll see that there’s even a bonus added in there. All the other clubs and the Hennessy got these, too.” 

Before any of the three of them can respond, Mr. Bailey comes out of the club with Conway himself in tow. Conway’s pale face is even paler and there are deep, heavy bags under his darting blue eyes. The man’s usually impeccable outfit is rumpled like he hastily pulled it from the closet and threw it on. He…tips his hat with a shaking hand…far, far more times than is politely necessary to Ms. Chaucer and the other Colored women crowded around the club. 

And when he sees Monica, his eyes bug in his skull and a wild panic flares in his eyes. His face goes whiter than bone. He stumbles a bit into other people and they glare at him with irritation. His trembling hands adjust his rumpled tie as he approaches her. 

Monica raises an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“M-Ms. Lynne. M-M-Monica Lynne, miss. Ma’am.”, he starts. He removes his bowler hat from his head, revealing a huge, shiny bald spot. He fiddles with the hat in his hands as he continues. “I-it has been brought t-to my immediate attention that I-I have been unforgivably r-rude to you. And so I a-am here to offer my _sincerest_ apologies a-and corrections. I-”

Monica’s eyebrow rises higher. “And these ‘corrections’ are…comin’ outta _your_ pocket?” 

Conway’s face somehow bleaches even more. “Y-yes, ma’am. Do you like-”

“Just get the fuck outta my house an’ never come back like I told you the first time”, Monica coldly commands. 

Conway replaces his bowler hat and nods too hard. “Y-yes, ma’am! O-of course, ma’am! G-good day!” 

He backs away from her and stumbles down the rest of the street. 

The crowd applauses and echoes Monica’s sentiment. But Monica can barely spare them a thought any more than James and Charles can. She slowly turns her head to look back up at the Silver Curtain being rapidly repaired. She then looks at Charles for a long, long time. 

Charles looks back at her for a long, long time. 

Then they both slowly, so slowly turn to look at James. 

James looks back at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning:** White racial violence/vandalism (no one gets hurt/dies, though) 
> 
> Why it took so long for Tony to come clean:
> 
> I first want to be clear: I don't think Tony Stark is a liar. I think Tony Stark is co-dependent. 
> 
> The Tony you see here is comic/616!Tony, but a huge bulk of my studying for him came from the 90s Iron Man cartoon. Yes, [_that_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4UlEcjLOiw) [shitty](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iron_Man_\(TV_series\)) Iron Man cartoon that no one wants to remember. **Laugh at me if you want** , but they absolutely do Tony's character right. The show is a great, cohesive supplement to researching him via comics b/c a lot of comic researching is just a few panels here and there and not always the whole story/picture. And one of the things the show confirmed for me is that Tony is indeed a lovable co-dependent mess. 
> 
> When I first seriously said I think I can do this story that I originally didn’t plan on doing, I had to answer a _lot_ of questions that I didn’t have to answer with the SamSteve version. It’s been a wonderfully interesting challenge writing this RhodeyTony one because I wanted to see if I could make their story make sense within the canon of SamSteve’s story and _yay!_ so far! 
> 
> One of the questions I had to answer was how the _fuck_ do I get Tony to Rhodey? B/c SamSteve are in roughly the same socioeconomic bracket; all I had to do was put Steve a little geographically closer and...that’s easy. But Rhodey is most-certainly not a Lt. Colonel in the past, but Tony, as a White man, would still definitely have all of his wealth and affluence intact. I was pretty wary b/c there’s a lot of ugly, racist history of wealthy, powerful White people inserting themselves into Black spaces with intent to dominate and appropriate and I wanted to avoid that w/this story. But a friend said that if it’s just Tony going to get some dance lessons and he happens to meet Rhodey…then that’s all you need; Tony knows he's a guest in Harlem and there's nothing more to it than that. That got Tony in Harlem w/Rhodey, but it didn't explain how Tony got _up close_ to Rhodey and started our love story.
> 
> The only solution I could come up w/is that Tony lied to Rhodey initially just b/c it's his understandable disguise, but eventually b/c he didn't want to tell Rhodey. 
> 
> So something like the issue of how to get Tony to tell Rhodey the truth is something you give time & space to in the story. 
> 
> Even w/the best versions of Tony, I get very strong, powerful codependency vibes from him. I don’t think that his brand of codependency is of the variety of “I _have_ to be in a relationship-I cannot be alone for x reasons”. Rather, I think his codependency is the kind where, for him, there’s genuinely no worthwhile, distinguishable difference between being alone and being lonely. There’s also no difference between the threat of losing someone he loves vs. a _perceived_ threat that he will lose someone he loves vs. actually, truly losing them. 
> 
> Then, I also think that there’s _some_ difference between temporarily losing someone he loves for vs. permanently losing them…but that difference is so small as to be nigh inconsequential for him. 
> 
> And the likes of Lt. Colonel James R. Rhodes is someone that Tony Stark loves so, so, so, so, _so_ very deeply, despite fandom’s insistence that Rhodey is [just the Big Scary Black Guy That Stole The Suit](http://platonicharmonics.tumblr.com/post/143757131578/hey-i-dont-mean-to-be-rude-but-can-you-explain). Losing or simply perceiving that he’s going to lose Rhodey in any way, shape, or form is just not something that Tony Stark _does_. He’s a mathematical/engineering genius billionaire industrialist philanthropic superhero and that’s a whole lot of skills, but not having Rhodey in his life and vice versa is not at all in that repertoire of skills. 
> 
> So Tony, though he is most-certainly a good person at heart, can and and has resorted to deception to keep Rhodey with him. He just wasn't going to tell Rhodey at all b/c he just doesn't do even _fearing_ that he'll lose Rhodey. The importance, though, is that Tony always realizes that he's _wrong_ and he must _fix it_ b/c Rhodey deserves better than that. 
> 
> That's what I try to portray in this story. 
> 
> But! This shall most certainly be rectified and I can tell you that next chapter will be a whole lot less pain. Stay tuned, dears! ;)


	9. Chapter 9

James sleeps well that night. When he wakes up and rolls over to look at his alarm clock, he sees that it reads just ten minutes past five. 

He doesn’t quite feel like going back to sleep. 

He rolls to lie on his back and just stares up at his bedroom’s cracked ceiling. What slight illumination there is comes from the streetlights outside. His mind, fresh from a deep, dreamless sleep, is clear and serene with only the here and now. There’s the slow rhythm of his breathing and the quiet rustling of the sheets when he moves his hands to fold over his stomach. There’s the slow, bleary blinking of his eyes as he wakes up more and more. There’s the slow, languid beating of his heart filling his ears. 

When James turns his head to look at his alarm clock again, it reads about sixteen minutes past five. 

He gets up. 

His mind keeps that clarity and serenity as he changes into one of his plainest trousers, a simple white shirt, and shoes. He goes into the kitchen and takes his jacket from one of the chairs’ backs. After a moment of consideration, he puts it on; there’s still just enough left-over spring coolness in the early morning for a jacket. Next is a brief note for Monica and Charles telling them that he’s gone for a walk. 

Just a walk. 

Before he knows it, he’s moving out of his apartment and onto the quiet streets. 

James keeps straight for a few blocks and then stops. If he keeps on for just a little while longer, into West Harlem and turns…onto 125th…

He’ll hit the Hennessy Ballroom. 

And maybe the Hennessy Ballroom might just be the right stop. Maybe…

No. James knows that’s not where to go. 

He continues on his straight path. 

There’s a part of him in the peaceful stillness of his mind that thinks he should walk faster. Hell, possibly even run. Because at the rate he’s is going, there may not be a feasible destination. There may not be an actual point to this walk. And once that destination and that point leaves, James may never be able to find it again. That is the risk and all it could take to minimize or even eliminate that risk is to increase his pace.

But James keeps his pace at an almost leisurely stroll. He won’t miss anything. 

There is nothing to miss. 

There is only a destination. A point. And he will reach it perfectly fine. 

He eventually finds himself moving parallel to the East River, on the East River Drive. Light and cool, the early morning breeze wafts over the water and in his direction and he pulls his jacket just a little closer around him and stuffs his hands in his pockets. James looks at the relatively quiet, still river as he walks. Soon, in less than an hour or so, the sunrise will splash glimmers and sparkles all across it and illuminate Welfare Island, the strip of land in the middle of it. 

But for now, the East River is quiet in only the way that sleepless New York City can be quiet at an hour like this. James sees no one save for the dock workers already up and working hard. The factories all around quietly puff and billow their smoke into the still air. Even as he watches the swirling pollution, he makes sure not to breathe too deeply. Of what he can see and hear of Welfare Island from his vantage point, save for the dock workers, it’s just as quiet. Just as still. Yes, with its softly blinking lights and slow smoke, it’s just as sleeplessly quiet as the rest of the city. 

Cars pass him by every now and then and he briefly considers finding and hailing a taxi. To ride in a taxi would be even faster than running and so he’ll get to his point, his destination quicker. 

But no. 

James still just wants to walk quietly this morning. 

So he keeps walking. 

After James passes under the Queensboro Bridge, he looks up at the sky. There’s just the faintest lighting now, casting just the barest grey over the world. There are just slightly less stars than there were before and, along with his fantasies of airplanes, James has always imagined the stars going to bed early to get ready for the big, big star called the sun. It must be getting close to six or already a little bit after six. Still, James doesn’t hurry. 

When James passes under the Williamsburg Bridge, he covers his ears as trains thunder on tracks over his head. With a brief smile, he thinks about how a possible train ride would be faster than walking, too. But he keeps to his pace. 

The last bridge to pass, the Manhattan Bridge, is put behind James just as the sky lightens the world to a starker, brighter grey. More of the stars fall asleep and more of the quiet sleeplessness falls away. James tightens his jacket around his shoulders again as a few more wafts from the East River drift over him. 

He veers off to the right and up and keeps straight for several more minutes. 

Much, much sooner than James thought he would, he stands on the Brooklyn Bridge. 

For the first time since leaving his apartment, James hesitates. He grips the lapels of his jacket, wrinkling the material between hands that were not trembling ten seconds ago. The many streetlights of the Brooklyn Bridge will go out soon with the coming of sunrise, but James still finds some comfort in them. The certainty that he’s felt ever since he woke up wavers-

No. There is no reason to be uncertain now any more than there was reason before. 

James lets go of his jacket lapels and moves forward. He turns his head this way and that, scanning the sparse people as he walks. 

Some people scattered here and there, just reading a book, just taking in the view, just sitting quietly…

A Muslim woman sitting on a bench, reading her Quran…

Two elderly men slowly making their way across the bridge, their eyes twinkling as they talk of chess…

The sky is growing even lighter with the coming of the sun and, thus, the lights turn off…they turn off. James is nearly halfway down the bridge when a flutter of despair rises in his stomach. He feels that point, that destination, slipping farther and farther away. But he came here and he knew he wasn’t wrong. He _knows_ he’s not wrong-

There. 

He stands alone, turned so that James sees his side profile. He’s bent at the waist and leans heavily on the rails with his arms crossed. A light jacket not much different, but surely more expensive, than James’ accompanies that familiar grey flat cap and glasses. Those eyes are turned towards the water and beyond to the horizon. He is still. 

And he is _hard_. So, so hard. Harder than James can remember ever seeing him. Even from where James stands, he can see that his jaw is clenched tight and his lips are pressed into a straight, firm line. It’s a sure guess that his hands are balled into tight fists. The line of his back and shoulders is rigid and unyielding. 

Something changes in the wind that blows over the East River. Maybe it’s something outright magical, or maybe it’s something that’s simply unheard of. But it is that change that makes Anthony Stark’s head turn and Anthony Stark’s eyes meet James Rhodes’. 

As soon as steel blue locks with bright diaspore, Anthony softens. Whatever unwanted emotion that clouded his eyes before he turned is gone quicker than James could ever hope to read it. It’s replaced by a soft… _yearning_. Such a soft, soft yearning that’s somehow still so, so strong. And from his eyes it spills to the rest of his body. His back and shoulders loosen. His arms uncross. His hands unclench. His lips part.

Alongside that open yearning in his eyes, James reads everything else perfectly. The crinkle in his brow asks James what he’s doing here...asks James if he’s really, really _here_ and if he’s really, really _real_. It’s the opening and closing of his mouth that means he wants to say something, but is unsure about what to say. His hands, though they stay at his sides, twitch with wanting to reach out to James. 

He is soft. Soft and yearning. 

Part of James…thinks he should be surprised. But he’s not at all surprised; there are no surprises here. There _can_ be none. Not here, not now. 

And James can’t help but mirror Anthony’s softness and yearning anyway. 

Even as James mirrors the other man, he needs answers to be given. Answers in place of the surprises that cannot be here. The honest, direct answers that must be given, or else the feelings can be there all the rest of his damn life, but this won’t _work_. 

Anthony hasn’t moved from his spot. His eyes stay locked on James’. 

James swallows and walks the last few feet until they’re right in front of each other. 

They search each other’s faces, just drinking the visage of the other man in. 

James’ eyes still cruise over Anthony’s face as he quietly declares, “I knew it was you. The whole time I don’ think there was ever any doubt.”

Anthony just as quietly affirms, “I had to do something. It was all over the papers.” 

“You mean _our_ papers. In yours, it was prolly pushed to page eight”, James guesses. 

Anthony winces. “Page thirteen.” 

“Thought so.” 

“Yeah.” He winces again. “But…that’s how I found out in the first place, how I knew to look at your papers.” 

“Ah.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

They fall silent and they take in the view the bridge affords them. The beginnings of the sun brighten the quiet sleeplessness…brighten the area where the two men stand. Anthony waits for James to ask the next question and James mulls over how to form it. 

He looks back at Anthony and keeps it simple. “Why did you do it?”

Anthony’s face is open and earnest as he replies with the truth. “I didn’t do it strictly for you. I mainly did it because it’s just the right thing to do. That’s…that’s a hell of a lot of people’s livelihood and hope. Their culture. I at least understand how much that means, how important that is.” 

James searches Anthony’s face once more and then nods slowly. 

His next question is just as simple, but it comes as a sucker punch to Anthony. 

“Were you honestly, finally going to tell me who you were that night at the Baudelaire?” 

Anthony keeps James’ gaze. “Yes. Yes, I was. I absolutely was, even though it was far too little, too late.”

James tilts his head in curiosity. “And…all of those times where you kept tryna tell me something important? Those were the times when you were attempting to tell me, but you just didn’t? _Couldn’t_?” 

“Well...it wasn’t ‘couldn’t’. It was never ‘couldn’t-it was always just ‘didn’t’. I was terrified at just…the thought of you rejecting me and I lost you.” Anthony pauses to swallow heavily. “But even more than that, I was selfish because I put that fear over and above you. And I am sorry.” 

“Then what…changed?” James asks quietly, a furrow of confusion in his brow. “Why did you really, truly decide to tell me the truth at the Baudelaire that night?” 

Anthony gives a soft laugh that’s entirely devoid of humor. He glances away from James to look at the East River, and then back again. “I was starting to realize and feel that I was a goddamned liar the longer I kept it from you. Even with every time I told myself that I’d tell you later…it didn’t make up for my not telling you right then-as soon as possible. It didn’t make up for it at all.” 

“And then Rumi and V properly tore into me just before the Baudelaire. See, they told me early on that I should be honest and upfront with you from about the beginning, but you can tell that I didn’t do a great job of heeding them”, Anthony says. “So they got fed up and yelled at me and I admitted out loud that I was just scared of losing you even as time had run out to be truthful with you.”

He continues, “And I guess…confessing that out loud and my best friends’ insistence that I stop making it about me helped me confront what I needed to do. _Made_ me confront it. That’s what changed.”

James stayed quiet the whole time Anthony explained. His eyes search and search the other man’s face and once again only find earnestness and honesty. There are no surprises here. No more surprises. 

No more lies. 

James tugs his jacket closer around himself. He’s slower, more hesitant with the next question. 

“You said…you said you lied to me because you didn’t want me to say ‘no’.” 

Anthony winces again in as many times this morning. “Yeah. I did.” 

James’ head tilts again. “So are you telling me the truth now because you want me to say ‘yes’?” 

“No. I’m...I’m telling you the truth now because you deserve to know.” Anthony takes a deep breath and forces himself to carry on. “You deserved to know from the very beginning and, again, I am _so sorry_ for being dishonest with you. That doesn’t change, no matter what your decision is and I apologize for trying to take that away from you.” 

James once again searches the other man’s face and once again finds nothing but what he found before. Just the teeniest, tiniest ghost of a smile plays across his lips and the softness in his eyes increase tenfold.

He next asks, “So what’s different about…you?” 

Anthony blinks in confusion. “Huh? What d’you mean?” 

“I mean, with you and for you, what’s the difference between ‘Tony Carbonell’ and ‘Anthony Stark’?” James clarifies. 

“Oh.”

He takes just a little while to think this time. His eyes once again drift to the East River as he thinks about how to formulate his answer. 

When Anthony finally has it, he turns back to James. “Well…the only thing different about ‘Tony Carbonell’ is that that name doesn’t really exist.”

“With ‘Anthony Stark’, my real name, it’s…well, to most of the people I have to deal with, I’m, uhh…pretty insufferable and arrogant; I don’t care to hear what anyone else has to say because I’m always right. I apparently sleep around and just toss my latest conquest out the door first thing in the morning. And, in fact, I _definitely_ keep a roster of people that I’m going to sleep with down to the hour. Because I have time and energy like that.”

James can’t help a low snicker bursting forth at that. 

Anthony snickers too. He continues, still laughing, “I’m also extraordinarily lazy and entitled; I lay around letting other people do my work for me while taking all of the credit. I just, y’know, basically live off the fortune and assets my parents left me because I have the best work ethic you’ve ever seen. So when I’m not having sex, I’m partying and when I’m not partying, I’m sleeping and when I’m not sleeping, I’m binging on caviar and drinking finely-aged bourbon, and when I’m not doing _those_ , I’m shopping for my hundredth designer three-piece suit.” 

By the time Anthony’s done, both of them are snickering so hard that they have to hold onto the railing. They’re lucky that the bridge is mostly empty at this hour and so no one stares in puzzlement at them. 

When James can catch his breath, he shamefacedly confesses, “Y’know…we’re laughing ‘bout it now, but before I…met you, I used to imagine that’s how you’d be. I used to imagine that that’s who you _are_.” 

Even as Anthony feels sucker punched for the second time, he smiles softly in understanding. “Oh, don’t worry about that; I completely understand. I don’t blame you at all for thinking that of me, let alone not wanting to bother with finding out the truth of me. Not one bit.” 

That teeny, tiny smile graces James’ lips again. His eyes search Anthony’s face again. “So…if ‘Tony Carbonell’ is just a fake name and ‘Anthony Stark’- or _most_ of ‘Anthony Stark’-is just a brought upon façade so you can get by in your world, then who exactly am I getting when you’re with me?” 

“You’re getting the rest of me: the part of me that’s just…myself. Anthony Stark as I am”, he says. “Like I said, I’m comfortably _me_ when I’m with you. There’s no front; there’s no mask. I’m completely relaxed and myself around you. You’re just getting _me_.”

James can do nothing but search Anthony’s face again and…believe. _Believe_ it. 

“And…what does Anthony Stark _really_ want with James Rhodes?” James asks, voice low and awed. 

Anthony sighs in longing. _Oh, James, it’s still not about what I do want with you, but what_ don’t _I want with you._

Even though the answer is the same, Anthony doesn’t mind repeating it at all. 

“Just the same thing I told you before: just you”, he says. “Your companionship, your friendship…just being around and with you, experiencing and enjoying things with you. I just want you.” 

James squints in confusion at him. “But _why_? Why would you come _all_ the way to Harlem for that? And want to become friends with someone from _East_ Harlem? Ain’chu got Rumiko and Virginia…” He briefly looks over Anthony’s shoulder, beyond the Brooklyn Bridge. “…way, way on the other side of town where you actually live? I’m sure you didn’t buy them, but don’t you have them?” 

“Oh, I do. I do have Rumi and V”, Anthony says, nodding. “They’re the two very best friends to have in the world. I’m lucky to have them. You’re right. It’s just…more friends are hard to come by and I don’t always have time to look for more to begin with. I swear all I came to Harlem for was dance lessons. 

“I didn’t have a partner and you didn’t have a partner. So they just put you with me and we started dancing and…” Anthony heaves a deep, deep breath before continuing, “I just…liked you. _Do_ like you.” 

A tiny, tiny smile starts tugging at the edge of James’ mouth at the same time that his eyebrows go up. He leans on the railing and playfully cocks his head at Anthony. “Oh, you like me huh?” 

“Yes. Very, very much so.” 

“Why?” 

“Because…because you’re you. You’re just…you. I like you.” 

“ _Why_?” 

Anthony flounders for a few moments because there’s not a thing that he _doesn’t_ like about James. He lets it pour out. All of it. 

“I…it’s just your everything. I know human beings aren’t perfect, but you’re perfect to me. You’re kind, funny, understanding, perceptive, and we do share the same interests-we both love tinkering and mechanics. You love and take wonderful care of your friends and you’re balanced in a lot of places that I’m not”, he says earnestly, warmly. 

“Just…just by knowing you, _you_ help balance me out. You know where to worry and you know where to let things go, and then you know where to have a reaction in-between. I don’t and I…don’t quite think I ever will”, Anthony laughs.

James’ smile grows just a little wider, even as there’s that incredulity once again blooming in his eyes. So Anthony continues, “And you’re funny in that you’re so, so witty and sharp and you tease really, really well. If all we ever did on our dates was just us sitting and having you talk to me the whole time…you’d probably make me laugh forever within the first five minutes.”

They share a laugh at that, knowing that it’s sure as hell true. 

And you’re brave, too”, Anthony adds. “You were probably just as scared as I was, dancing with a complete stranger at the Hennessy that first day. But then you agreed to let that stranger see you again. Then, you’re so warm and receptive to people and once you take them in; you can read them so quickly. It’s almost like…like just about anyone could call you their best friend because you’re just that nice and understanding to them.” 

Anthony sighs with longing again. “You’re just…you and I like it. I like _you_. You are a beautiful person. A very, very beautiful person. I know it…started on a lie, but one thing that I am and will always be grateful for is to have had any chance at all to know a person as beautiful as you.” 

By now, James is completely silent and his face is full of nothing but shock and shyness. His wide eyes once again search Anthony’s face and he finds not a shred of dishonesty or exaggeration. There are still no more surprises; still no more lies. James opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes forth. He can only manage to break his gaze away from Anthony to look out over the East River for a while, and then back to him. 

The smile he gives the other man is full of a hesitant awe. “Well, I guess it’s _your_ turn to overwhelm _me_ now, huh?” 

Anthony smiles back at him. “Yeah, you gotta admit that my turn was a long time in coming.” 

“Y’know, I think it was.” 

“Yep.” 

“Uh huh.” 

A silence falls between them. A warm silence. A comfortable silence. 

Anthony is the one to break it. Softly, gently he breaks it. 

“If…if you still want to say ‘no’, then I’ll understand that. I’ll respect that”, he says. “I’ll still stay away from you.” 

Anthony steps just a little closer. “But, if you want to say ‘yes’, then…” He extends an open hand to James, palm up. “Hi. My name is Anthony Stark. It’s such a pleasure to meet you and…I’d very much like to be your friend.” 

James looks down at that hand…

…that hand that is the same as his…

…And it’s both a second and an eternity by the time he slides his hand into Anthony’s and just holds it. 

He looks back up at the other man and the biggest smile since he found Anthony on the Brooklyn Bridge blooms across his face. “Hi, Anthony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. ‘M James Rhodes and I’d very much like to be your friend, too.” 

A thrill, warm and invigorating, courses through Anthony at the sight and feel of James’ consenting hand in his. James, too, feels warmth and invigoration; James feels _safe_. 

The sunrise finally comes and graces New York City, splashing sunlight in glitters and glimmers over the East River below James and Anthony. They look up from their joined hands and blink in the sudden, bright light. 

Soon they’re looking over each other’s shoulders and thinking of the other man’s home. James thinks of Anthony’s Upper West Side; Anthony thinks of James’ East Harlem. 

They look back at each other. 

“Do you…have to go back?” Anthony asks quietly, his voice just on the edge of disappointment. 

James shakes his head and squeezes Anthony’s hand. “No. Plus, I left a note, so Monica and Charles shouldn’t be too worried. Do _you_ have to go back? Do you have more work to do or will Rumiko and Virginia…?” 

It’s Anthony’s turn to shake his head and squeeze James’ hand. “Oh, no. I don’t have any work any time soon. And, uhh…Rumiko and Virginia have been staying at their own apartments lately, anyway.”

Neither man feels the urge to mention that the two women have been staying in their own homes due to their rage at Anthony for keeping shit from James. 

But it will be rectified soon enough. 

A great many things will be rectified soon enough. 

That warm silence, that comfortable silence, falls over them again. 

They look back down at their joined hands. 

“James?” Anthony starts softly. 

“Yeah?” James answers just as softly. 

Anthony’s eyes flit up to look at James. “Did you…walk all the way over here from your apartment?” 

“Uh huh”, James replies. He lifts his eyes to meet Anthony’s. “I don’ mind, though. It was a good walk for me.” 

“Oh yeah. But…that was a hell of a long walk. You must be…I mean…” Anthony falters and clears his throat to try again. “May I, umm…uhh…are you hungry? Thirsty? I…I’d like to get you some breakfast, if you are. And we don’t have to walk, y’know! Because I know you don’t have a car, but I have a car and- _fuck_ , that came out wrong…” 

James stills, his only movement being the slow, disbelieving raise of an eyebrow. “Anthony, are you…what’re trying to say…?” 

Anthony rubs his forehead, as though trying to iron out his thoughts so that he can better convey them to James. “I mean, I…I’m saying…just…have you had breakfast yet? Have you sat down in a while?” 

“No to both of those.” James smiles uneasily. “Uhhh…but I planned on going back home sometime to…do both of those.” 

Anthony chews on his lip, heart pounding. “Your home is…far away, though.” 

James’ own heart starts to pound in turn. His eyebrow comes down as his brow furrows. Slowly, he asks, “You’re not…talking ‘bout going to a _diner_ to get some breakfast, are you?” 

“No, I’m…I’m not talking about a diner at all.” Anthony takes a deep breath and blurts the rest of it out. “Will you…come with me? Come with me to my house? And let me get you breakfast there? Jarvis is my butler that takes damn good care of me and he’s an _excellent_ cook. We have just about everything you c-” 

He cuts himself off at James’ wide eyes, slackened mouth and raised eyebrows that are so high by now that they nearly meet his hairline. James stares and stares and _stares_ at him. 

Several moments pass before he can finally speak and when he does, his voice all but croaks. “Anthony. Don’t you live in a mansion? A goddamn _mansion_ of all places? And way on the other side of town, no less? In the _Upper West Side_? Hell, maybe even nestled right in the goddamn center of it?”

Anthony smiles squeezes his hand tightly. Voice warm with assurance he says, “Yeah, but I’ll keep you safe there. You hear me? You’ll be _safe_. Nothing’s going to happen to you and you’re more than welcome. I promise you.” 

“But if you really don’t want to come to my house, I understand!” He rushes to say. “If that’s the case, though, will you at least let us drive you home? I just don’t want you to…it’s a long, long walk from here and you’ll be hungry again soon, y’know? 

James comes down from his shock. He has to work his mouth a few times to get the words out. And when he does, his voice is quiet with wonder. “Y-you…you _really_ want me to eat breakfast at your house?” 

Anthony nods. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” 

“W-well, you know, I’m not saying that you wouldn’t! I’m just…” James laughs nervously. “I mean I never really planned on going to a mansion way, way over in Manhattan’s Upper West Side. My Manhattan has always been East Harlem, y’know?” 

“Oh, I know-I know.” He squeezes James’ hand again. “But trust me when I say that you’re more than welcome and you’ll be just fine. Really.” 

James gives him a shy, shy smile, and Anthony can already hear the ‘yes’ brimming in those diaspores. 

Those diaspores that he’s missed so, _so_ much. 

“Come with me”, Anthony breathes, tugging on James’ hand. “You’ve welcomed me into your home in more ways than one. So let me welcome you into mine.” 

James smiles even wider and he sighs. With a shrug, he says, “Well, alright. I guess I’m eating breakfast at your house, huh?” 

Anthony’s eyes shine. “You sure are!” 

He pauses then and looks to the sky, thinking for a moment. His face brightens and he looks back down at James. “Would you like a…a soufflé? Jarvis always makes a _killer_ soufflé! And in all kinds of different flavors, too!”

That hint of shyness comes back to James’ smile. “Y’know, I’ve actually never in my life had a soufflé. I hear they’re pretty good, though.” 

“Oh, they are! Jarvis will make absolutely certain that your first time tasting it will be wonderful and you’ll love it!” 

“Well then, first time ‘M trying a soufflé in your house. I think I’ll love it, too.” 

They smile at each other. 

With that, Anthony, keeping James’ hand in his, turns and guides James farther down the bridge. James initially thinks that the other man is going to hail them a taxi, but they soon come upon a sleek, black-

“Chrysler Model B-70?” James croaks. “Is that a real fuckin’ _Chrysler Model B-70?!_ ” 

Anthony gives James a smile so big that his face just might split. “Yep. Wanna tinker with her sometime? She loves the attention.” 

“Uhh…” James blinks and shakes his head, as though trying to bring reality back to fruition. “Lemme, umm…just think about actually getting in the car for now. Yeah, let me just work on that for a minute.” 

They share a laugh. 

The car’s retractable roof is up, but James can still see a man slowly get out of it. The man is White and looks to be in a sharply-pressed butler’s uniform topped with a driver’s cap. Jarvis. 

And Jarvis looks more and more wonderstruck as James and Anthony come upon the car. James swallows nervously and grips Anthony’s hand; Anthony grips him right back and rubs soothing circles over his knuckles. 

Anthony starts, “Jar, this is-”

“ _James_. Why, this must be none other than _James_ ”, Jarvis breathes. 

“Yeah, this is James. James Rhodes.” Anthony turns to James. “And James, this is Jarvis. He, uh, takes care of me.” 

James thinks he ought to at least raise his free hand to wave at him…but Jarvis is openly gawking at him like he’s the sunrise, salvation, and the second coming all wrapped up in one. Hell, he even whips his hat off and clutches it to his chest. James resists the urge to duck and hide behind Anthony. 

Anthony helpfully clears his throat and cuts in, “Uh, Jarv? ‘M really happy and excited too, but…you’re kinda making James uncomfortable here. Can you tone it down a bit? Just a little bit?” 

“O-oh! Oh, yes, of course!” Jarvis collects himself, though his face is still bright with sheer glowing adoration for James. He extends his hand to him. “James, darling, it is the _upmost_ pleasure to finally meet you! Truly it is.” 

James’ heart flutters with cozy, flighty butterflies at being called ‘darling’ by Jarvis. He gives the man a warm, firm handshake. “Aw, thanks. Thanks so much. Pleasure’s all mine.” 

“Jarv, d’you think you could whip James up a nice, good soufflé or two?” Anthony asks. “It’ll be his first one ever.” 

“Why, of course! Of course! I’d be simply delighted to!” 

In the next moment, Jarvis replaces his driver’s cap atop his head and opens the back passenger door for James and Anthony. Jarvis doesn’t bother trying to hide another smile as the two young men unconsciously keep their hands joined as they slide into the car. 

James is sure he’s never _felt_ such fine, seamless upholstery in all his life. He dazedly caresses the seat with his free hand and, with Anthony beside him and Jarvis beaming at him in the rearview mirror it’s difficult for him to feel self-conscious, much less apprehensive. James looks out the window as Jarvis smoothly takes them into Manhattan’s Upper West Side, into Anthony’s home. 

And Anthony can’t keep his eyes off him the entire car ride. He keeps glancing at James like he can’t believe that James is here, sitting in the back of this car with him, on the way to his house to have some breakfast. James is here-really, truly _here_. 

Anthony squeezes his hand and James squeezes right back. 

The awakening hustle and bustle of the streets falls away and behind them and become scarcely-populated roads. And soon those roads, too, fall away until they come upon the impossibly long, secluded private driveway that leads to the Stark Estate. The driveway is lined on each side with huge, cedar oak trees that are verdant in the prime of summer; they appear doubly immense and innumerable, what with the way they reflect and merge into a streaming wall of green and brown in the Chrysler’s spotless windows. 

In-between the denseness of the trees’ leaves winks the rays of the early morning sun. Between the expensive tires and the perfectly-paved road, the ride is ever smooth and level. The driveway curves just once, just twice…and then out of the cedar oaks looms the Stark Mansion. 

High and majestic, the three-story mansion is as huge as an entire city block. Its wide, sprawling lawn is even more verdant than the cedar oaks and blankets the front of the Stark Estate like a sea of green. In the middle of the lawn, a gigantic marble fountain cheerfully spouts water that sparkles and glistens in the sunrise. 

As Jarvis pulls the car onto the semi-circular driveway, James can’t help but stare up at the massive, luxurious home. The three stories stretch up, up, and _up_ until the third floor windows’ spires could look as though they could touch the sun. Right in front of the car, James can see that the grandly-curved steps leading up to the front double doors are made entirely of marble, while beige stone makes up their balustrade. The front double doors are polished and made of heavy oak; like the rest of the mansion, they stretch high and tall, far, far above the average person’s head. 

In all of the shrubbery and flowers that line the grounds in the front and on the sides of the mansion, there is not a single part of foliage that’s not meticulously trimmed and managed. The same is for the wide, verdant lawn; there’s not a single square inch of it that is uneven. 

And the fountain truly does cheerfully spout sparkling, glistening water. 

James feels like he’s in a dream.

He tugs on his jacket collar self-consciously with his free hand when Jarvis stops the car and comes around to open the door. 

Beaming, Jarvis announces, “Welcome to the Stark Estate, darling James. Our home is your home.” 

James gets out of the car with Anthony. He tugs on his collar again and with a smile says, “Uhh…thanks. It’s...pretty. Real pretty. And big. So thanks.” 

Jarvis’ face impossibly gets brighter as he inclines his head. He then turns to Anthony and directs, “And Anthony, perhaps it would be prudent for you to accompany James washing up in a bathroom while I prepare a batch of soufflé?” 

Anthony’s face brightens, too. “I think that’s a great idea, Jarv!” 

Jarvis nods and disappears in the direction that must lead to the kitchen. 

James goes to tug at his collar again, but Anthony pointedly pulls his hand from doing so and holds it tight. James smiles nervously and Anthony smiles back and jerks his head towards the doors. 

“C’mon, I’ll wash up with you in a bathroom, and then we can sit and we can watch Jarvis work his magic in the kitchen. And after breakfast, we can, uhh…” 

“Go from there?” James suggests. 

“Yeah, that sounds good!” 

They smile at each other again and then Anthony is pulling James into the grand first floor foyer. Just about everywhere James looks, there’s nothing but marble and stone and plush carpets and polished wood and statues and paintings that surely cost more than a year’s worth of James’ rent and ornate wall candelabra and more statues and paintings. 

Anthony rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and gives James a lopsided smile. “Well, uhh…here we are in the foyer. Or, umm…the first floor entry hall, however you want to call it. In, uhh…in this mansion. Where I live. D’you…like it?” 

James eyes slowly trail back to the other man. “Ehh…I think it’ll do. Kinda.” 

They share a laugh at that. 

Anthony then pulls James towards the first floor’s main living room that’ll lead to a bathroom. When they get inside the ornate, spacious room, he gets ready to jokingly ask if James thinks this room “will do”, “kinda”, too. 

But James tugs on his hand for him to stop. “Hey…Anthony? Wait a minute.” 

Anthony stops and turns back to him with a smile. “Yeah, James?” 

Those bright diaspores are searching his face again and Anthony goes still. James releases his hand and lifts it to his face. But he lowers it again and pulls his lips in. Anthony stays still, patiently and curiously watching for what James will do. He lets an encouraging light come to his eyes as James still hesitates. 

That’s all it takes for James’ hand to lift back to his face. And it’s Anthony’s turn to be unsure this time-his heart races as James’ hand goes for the edge of his glasses. 

His fake glasses. 

His fake glasses that James now knows perfectly well are fake. 

Anthony closes his eyes as James slowly, gently pulls them off his face. His ears are acutely tuned into the quiet sound of James folding them up and then setting them down on an end table. Cool air hits the top of his head when James next pulls his flat cap off; he hears the quiet sound of James setting that on an end table, too. 

And then James’ hand is in his hair, tenderly smoothing over and through the waves. Anthony keeps his eyes closed and it’s all he can do not to sag to the floor right then at the simultaneously terrifying and soothing feeling of James’ questing hands in his hair. He can tell that James isn’t just feeling out his hair for the very first time. Instead, he can feel James rearranging it from its squished, messy flat-cap-worn-for-hours look into his regular look. He feels James slicking most of his hair back, tucking it behind his ears. James then allows just those few strands of hair to fall over his forehead. 

But even after he’s done shaping Anthony’s hair, his hand then goes to feeling and caressing Anthony’s face. It’s the same as those impossibly gentle butterfly touches when James first noticed their hands are the same- _the same_ -in Sally Hagen’s diner all that time ago; it leaves Anthony just as breathless, just as overwhelmed this time around. James’ fingers brushes over his eyelids, slips down his nose, ghosts over his cheekbones, traces his lips. 

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies all over his face…butterflies…

James finally gives one last, warm brush over his hair and quietly says, “ _There_ you are.” 

Anthony opens his eyes and smiles softly at him. “Here I am”, he confirms. 

And without his fake glasses and flat cap in the way, Anthony feels that he can fully, freely _see_ James right back. There is no glass over his eyes, no hat shading his face anymore to potentially mar the beautiful, perfect visage that is James Rhodes. 

They spend the next several seconds just standing there smiling stupidly at each other. Just like they did back at the Hennessy all that time ago. 

“Y’know”, James quietly starts, looking all around the expensive room. “When I guessed that you were a bit different, I ain’ really thought you were _this_ different.” 

Anthony winces. He takes both of James’ hands in his. “I know, but…you still believe me when I say that you are _more than welcome here_ , right, James? You believe me, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I believe you.” That shyness comes back into his smile. “In fact, you look like you’re so, so excited for me to be here at all. And this is really a nice place, so…thanks. Thanks a whole bunch.” 

“No, thank _you_ for coming with me. Really.” 

“Sure, Anthony.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

They once again stand there smiling stupidly at each other. A warm, warm thrill sings in their heart at the thought of being able to do this much, much more often in the future. 

James is the first to speak again. “So, uhh…we were washing up before breakfast? In one of your bathrooms? ‘Cause you have more than one?” 

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I do have more than one bathroom and we’re supposed to get cleaned up in one of them!” Anthony chuckles. He jerks his head for James to follow him. “Right this way.” 

When they get into the bathroom adjacent to the living room, James is once again stunned at the lavishness. He never really knew so much opulence and grandeur could be found in a bathroom of all places.

Anthony lets his hands go to turn on the faucets in both of the marble counter’s twin sinks and let the hot water run. Meanwhile, James goes to the impeccable, pristine porcelain toilet and curiously lifts the seat. He staggers back and gives a loud, exaggerated gasp at what he finds. 

He turns playfully wide, astonished eyes on Anthony. “What the _hell_ , Anthony? I thought you’d be cookin’ with gas all throughout this house! But you don’t even have a gold seating for your toilets? How d’you do this? How d’you _live_ like this? I can’t imagine the horror!”

Anthony’s face adopts a playful horror and astonishment of its own; his eyes widen, too, and his mouth trembles as though he’ll break into sobs. “You think it’s about how I managed to live with a nice, gold toilet seat? No, it’s how I am living _at all_. You don’t understand the terror of my daily existence-you _can’t_.” 

“Well, why didn’ you buy golden toilet seats for your house to begin with?! Donchu know they’re essential for living?!” James admonishes.

“No, I _do_ know that! I do! It’s just that I’m always so busy that I forget to ask Jarvis to order them from Paris!”

“How’re you so busy that you forget such a vital component of existence?” James scoffs. “And now look where it’s gotten you!”

"Yep; I have no one to blame but myself for this, too!” 

“Damn right! So what d’you do to cope in the meantime?” 

Anthony candidly looks James in the face and proclaims, “Why, I do nothing less than shit outside in the gardens. Because even if I’m dying from gold-toilet-seat-withdrawal, at least the nice-smelling roses get some natural fertilizer.” 

They both completely stop at that. And in the next second, they burst into such howls of laughter that they have to hold themselves upright by clinging to the sink and their laughter echoes all throughout the bathroom. Somewhere in-between their fun, James manages to gasp that Anthony is a damn mess, to which Anthony says he’s never denied. They laugh so much that they almost forget to wash their hands under the hot running water, and then to join Jarvis in the kitchen. 

Oh, they laugh.

-

“…and when Madame Stark opened her Christmas present from her one and only son, do you know what it was, dear James?!” Jarvis asks with tears of mirth in his eyes. 

James, Anthony, and Jarvis all take their breakfast in the middle of the Stark Estate’s interior courtyard. Once he finished cooking their food with his usual finesse and flourish, Jarvis intended to leave the two young men to their own devices in the courtyard. But both James and Anthony insisted that Jarvis sit with them and so Jarvis did and now he shares embarrassing, hilarious stories of Anthony’s childhood. 

Even as James greatly enjoys the stories, he also enjoys the natural magnificence of the interior courtyard. Beneath their feet is speckled maroon stone. There are three other table sets tastefully adorned and spaced out from theirs. All around them, tall arches of soft, beige stone that lead to the doors of the mansion are interspersed with abundant fauna. In-between the fauna are priceless marble statues of important historical French and Italian scholars and dignitaries, the names and titles of which Jarvis cheerfully relayed to James. The grass here is just as verdantly green and meticulously manicured as the estate’s front lawn. Carefully-trimmed ivy and chrysanthemums and tulips and roses of just about every color gently sway and bend in the early morning air; together, they provide a soft fragrance to the courtyard’s inhabitants and modest shade for the climbing summer sun. 

And James’ cheeks and stomachs just about to kick it from how much _laughter_ he’s had this morning. On top of the laughter, he’s nearly finished with what must be the very _best_ soufflé there is to be had, along with coffee and fresh fruit and the combination just may make him soar high, high up to the sky. 

But he can’t stop laughing to save his life as he puts his speared piece of soufflé down and wheezes, “W-what?” 

Jarvis leans across the table and exclaims, “An engine, James! An _engine_ for his mother for _Christmas!_ Can you imagine?!” 

“ _Wow_ …y’know, I don’t think I can imagine.” 

“Indeed, I understand how you feel”, Jarvis consoles as he stirs more sugar into his coffee. “Why, I was there myself and _I_ still cannot imagine it.” 

Anthony shakes his head even as he’s laughing, too. He swirls the coffee in his cup around and pleadingly implores with James. “Lies, lies, and nothing but _lies_. I never in my life gifted my own mother with an engine for Christmas of all things, let alone her birthday or any other holiday. I swear, James.” 

“Oh, naw, I believe Jarvis for sure!” 

“Are you serious?!” Anthony cries over the lip of his coffee cup. 

“I am! But I bet your mom was nice and understanding of that present, too, huh? Ain’t blow her top or anything.” 

“In fact, she was most appreciative and grateful of it!” Jarvis says. “She kept the hideous thing right on top of her vanity and never put the thing away for anything or anyone! Why, each time me or Mr. Stark tried, she protested quite strongly and so the engine sat.”

James gives a low whistle and shakes his head at Anthony. “ _Damn_ , your mom must’ve loved you somethin’ awful to enjoy your gift so much.” 

“Well, yeah, she was my mom. I kinda think she did love me.” Anthony snickers over a sip of coffee. “Maybe it was just a little bit, but it was something.” 

They all three laugh again. 

-

As soon as breakfast was done (Jarvis grew indignant when James tried to help clear away the dishes), Anthony grabbed James’ hand, and guided him back into the house. 

He then excitedly tore upstairs with James in tow to show him his bedroom. And James let himself be led, grinning in just as much excitement the whole way up the marble staircase. 

And now James is inside Anthony’s impossibly spacious bedroom; hell, the room could swallow up the entirety of his apartment and _still_ have space leftover. Just as Anthony could see just how much James loves airplanes in his bedroom, so now James can see just how much Anthony loves cars. Every now and then, there is an interspersion showing a clear love of airplanes, but the majority of Anthony’s room is _cars_. 

Somehow all of the literal car parts, models, posters, magazines, blueprints, and the like don’t look at all out of place amongst the general lavishness of the room. James’ eyes just as easily take in the huge, king-sized bed with its gargantuan mahogany headboard, dozens of downy, fluffy pillows, and bedsheets that must give the feeling of sleeping on a cloud. He can see the delicate end tables on either side of the bed holding lamps and an alarm clock. 

And the large, imposing vanity with its cluttered surface full of Anthony’s personal grooming and hygiene tools. And the closet to the far left that must be a huge, huge walk-in. And the bathroom door open right beside that, and he can already tell from where he stands that it’s just as grand and opulent as any other bathroom in the mansion. And the desk with the cluttered papers that must be Anthony’s work. And the two plush armchairs that sit right in one of the heavily-curtained windows. 

Anthony fidgets a bit as James looks all around. “Well, here’s _my_ room. You can tell that I like cars, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah, I can most definitely tell that”, James agrees with a smile. His eyes sweep over the room once again.

“And will this room ‘do’? ‘Kinda’, too?” 

James playfully squints. “Hmm…well, I’d say that this room is gettin’ there. Just gettin’ there. But I bet you also don’t have a gold-plated toilet seat in your bathroom, either?” 

“‘M afraid that I don’t, James. ‘M afraid that I don’t”, Anthony sighs. “I’m telling you, those gold seats are still far, far away in Paris and I still gotta shit in the gardens _just_ to survive.” 

“A tragedy is what it is, a true tragedy.” 

“You’re telling _me._ "

They share a laugh. 

Anthony moves towards the bed and pats the thick, fluffy comforter atop it. “Here, come and sit down with me. You’ll like it, I promise.” 

James tilts his head and hesitates. “But…will I be able to get back up afterwards? Is it safe?” 

“Yes to both! And if you have any trouble getting up after, I’ll be sure to help you up!” 

“…Y’mean it?” 

“Sure do!” 

James hesitates for just a moment more and then, just as a precaution, kicks his shoes off. He then slowly comes over to sit on the edge of Anthony’s bed-

And _dies_. 

A cloud…he’s pretty sure that he’s never in his life laid on a cloud before, but fuck a _cloud_. This has to feel even better than a cloud; this feels as though he’s floating high, high up on air currents and then getting let back down each and every time he breathes. He sinks down, down, down into the impossibly soft mattress, but his descent is controlled and so he doesn’t at all feel as though he’s sinking straight to the floor. 

“Holy _shit_ ”, he murmurs. 

If Anthony smiled any bigger, his face just might split in half. He scoots farther back atop his bed and pointedly lies down. “Right?! See, what did I tell you?!” 

“Oh, you didn’t tell me _shit_ ”, James moans, eyes fluttering closed. He follows Anthony’s example and lays back against the bed, too. 

Damn. 

“Well, I told you that I’d help you get back up if you like! I did say that, right?” 

“…Yeah, but I kinda don’t even want to remember it because this right here is just so comfy. And hell, even though we’re lying sideways without the pillows, this is still comfortable.” 

Anthony beams even wider and shifts just a little closer to the other man. “I’m glad you like it, James. I really am.” 

“Aw, thanks.” 

“Sure. Anytime.” 

James eyes stay closed. “Y’know, I think I could just about collar a nod like this, but ‘M too excited so Imma stay awake, instead.” 

“Ahh, but just know that if you _did_ fall asleep, I’d wake you up before the end of the year, okay?” 

“ _Before_ the year ends, you say?” 

“Yep-before!” 

“Okay, now that sounds like a plan for sure!” 

They share yet another laugh and then they fall into that warm, comfortable silence. 

It’s just a few moments later when James opens his eyes and glances up at the sunrays through the curtains. He notices how high and bright they are and he comes down from his mirthful, comfy high. Hesitantly, he sits up and asks, “Oh…hey, what time is it?” 

Anthony sits up too, and grabs his alarm clock off the nightstand. “It’s just twenty minutes past eleven. Why d’you ask, James?” 

But before James can answer, a knock sounds on the door and Jarvis comes in. He looks not one bit alarmed at seeing the two young men sitting close on the bed together. If anything, he looks smugly pleased.

He addresses James. “Darling, shall I prepare a luncheon? What would you like this time? Care to try a new dish?” 

But James winces and shakes his head. He scoots off the bed and stands up. “Aw, thanks a whole bunch, Jarvis. Really. I’d _love_ to stay, but I should get back home.” 

Jarvis looks akin to a kicked puppy left out in the rain and James’ resolve nearly wavers. “Oh, but won’t you stay for at least lunch, dear? That would be just an hour or so more.” 

Anthony struggles to hide his own disappointment on his face, but he stands up with James and cuts in, “No, Jarv. James wants and needs to go home, so let’s get him there.” 

“Yeah, I wish I could stay-I _really_ do- but I gotta get home”, James laments. 

“Uh huh. And besides”, Anthony says, his gaze becoming soft and imploring as he looks at James. He takes his hand in his. “James…James will be back to visit soon. Right?”

He wants to take him down to his workshop so they can tinker together; he wants to give James a full tour of the mansion so that he’ll comfortably know his way around because surely he’ll be staying here far, far more often. 

James smiles and squeezes his hand warmly. “Yeah, sure. Uhh…if you guys want me back that is.” 

For the first time since the Brooklyn Bridge, Jarvis looks mortally offended. “…James Rhodes, are you implying that our hosting talents are so severely lacking that you do not believe we have great pleasure and enjoyment in your company?” 

And Anthony looks just short of outraged. “…Are you fucking serious? James, we wish you never had to leave in the first fucking place. Stop speaking nonsense.” 

James gives a playful sigh. “Welp. Looks like I’ve been overruled then, huh?” 

Anthony and Jarvis’ faces break out into a huge, huge smile. Anthony winks at James. 

“You sure have, James. You sure have.” 

-

For James, leaving the Stark Estate to return home to East Harlem feels like coming down from a high, high cloud only to be set so, so gently back on the ground. 

The reality that he’ll get to have this feeling much more often in the future sends warm thrills all throughout his heart. 

So that the Chrysler wouldn’t look outrageously out of place in East Harlem, Jarvis reluctantly dropped them off around Central Park so James and Anthony could hail a taxi to take James the rest of the way home.

The taxi drops them off in front of James’ apartment complex and the two young men stand off to the side from the uneven stoop and stairs. Anthony has his flat cap and glasses back on, but when James looks at him, he feels not an ounce of loss, not an ounce of barrier. 

There’s only _truth_. There’s only _closeness_. 

They’re standing around smiling stupidly at each other. 

Again. 

James softly breaks the comfortable silence. “Well, thanks a bunch for such a lovely, delicious breakfast. ‘M glad to say my first time tryin’ a soufflé was a good time, a good memory.” 

“No, thank _you_ for coming with me”, Anthony insists. “Thank you so much. I’m happy that you enjoyed it. Jarv is a great cook, isn’t he?” 

“He is. He totally is!” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

James then clears his throat and glances up at the complex. “Well, I gotta relay this news to Moni and Charles, yeah?” 

Anthony winces and adjusts his glasses. He, too, looks up at the complex. “Yeah, James. But…I imagine they’re not too fond of me. And for good reason, too.” 

James looks back down to the other man and smiles warmly at him. He places a warm, steady palm on Anthony’s chest. Right over his heart. “ _And_ they don’t really know you…not like I do, at least.” 

Those words…those words…pull that sharp, jagged thing that’s been stabbing and twisting inside of Anthony’s heart ever since the Baudelaire straight out. Once it’s gone the vacuum in his chest releases air once more and with James’ hand on his heart, he can breathe. Full and deep and free, he can _breathe_. 

He’d fall to the hot pavement in sheer relief, but James’ palm over his heart steadies him, grounds him. He slowly covers James’ hand with his own and squeezes. 

“Yeah”, Anthony quietly agrees. “You do know me.” 

The answering smile James gives him outshines the summer sun above their heads. “Yep. I sure do.”

They step closer together, so close that their breaths nearly mingle. Anthony catches James’ free hand and rubs his thumb in soothing circles over his knuckles. But there is not a kiss here. No, not yet. Not just yet.

Instead, they stand there smiling stupidly at each other in as many times. 

James is the one to remember the current problem at hand. He clears his throat awkwardly, but doesn’t break away from the other man. “So…Moni and Charles. Gotta figure out a way for you to, hmm…” 

“To re-meet them?” Anthony suggests, his face nearly wincing again. 

“Yeah! Yeah, ‘re-meet’ sounds ‘bout right. I think…I’ll break the ice first, be your voucher and then you can come in?”

Anthony shakes his head. “That’s kind of you James, but I don’t think so. _I’m_ the one that lied to you all that time and so _I_ should be the one to explain things to them. I should vouch for and re-introduce myself.” 

“Oh, I know that! I wasn’ gonna take that from you; I completely agree with you”, James assures. “‘M just sayin’ that if I tell them that everything’s okay with _me_ and they’ll believe me, then it’ll be easier for you to come in after me and explain things.” 

Anthony thinks about James’ idea for a moment, trying to find some way in which it wrongfully absolves him of responsibility and, thus, should be scrapped for something else. But there’s not a single thing wrong with James’ logic. 

And James already smiles at him, knowing that he’s won. 

“Well, alright”, Anthony reluctantly relents, a smile on his own face. “We’ll do it that way. You go in first, and then I’ll go in and…make my case.” 

“Yep! Monica and Charles will be sure to accept you with open arms after that!” James thinks for a moment, lips pursing. “An’ then…well, I think it’s high past time we all had a lil bailin’ time together. Something to… _really_ break the ice, _really_ get ‘em comfortable with you…” 

Anthony sags as hope leaves him; he clings tighter to James’ hand on his chest. “Yeah, but how in the _world_ are we gonna put that together soon enough? I’m busy as hell, and certainly Moni and Charles have their own schedules, too.” 

“Hmm, don’t worry, Anthony”, James soothes. He squeezes his hand back. “How ‘bout- _oh!_ We still ain’t had that celebratory dinner for Moni getting the headliner spot at the Silver Curtain yet! What about that?!” 

“Oh, _shit_ , you’re right! We haven’t had that yet!” Anthony’s eyes shine with renewed hope.

It feels like so, so long ago when Anthony first met James’ friends and they all spoke of taking Monica out to dinner in celebration of her. But of course James remembered, of course James thought of a way to incorporate it into what they need to do. 

James’ diaspores shine right back-they shine the way they’re supposed to. “See? And we can prolly have the dinner at your house, too! We c-”

He cuts himself off and it’s his turn to wince. “Oh, wait, that…fuck, that was rude. It’s _your_ house. I shouldn’t’ve-”

“No, no, no, please!” Anthony insists. He all but vibrates in place with excitement at this new, better idea. “That’s a _perfect_ idea! Absolutely _perfect!_ I’d love to have all of you over for dinner! Hell, the only one that’ll love it even more is Jarvis because he wants to meet Monica and Charles, too!” 

“And…Rumiko and Virginia? They could be there and meet us, too! We could all meet each other while celebrating Moni’s headlining!” 

“Oh, yes, Rumi and V _definitely_ want to meet them, especially Monica. They’ve all but bitten my head off for that, too, and rightfully so.” 

“Great! I’ve been wantin’ to meet them for a while, too, and I know Moni and Charles will warm up to them and Jarvis soon enough. We’ll…all set a date and time right after you re-meet Monica and Charles?” 

“Uh huh!” Anthony agrees. “The sooner, the better!” 

“A’ight, so review”, James starts, a huge smile on his face. “Imma be the one to go in first with my two best friends as soon as I can. Then, when I got ‘em all warmed up, I’ll call you as soon as possible. Then you’ll come in and state your case and you also want them over to collar a hot at your house.” 

_Ah, so that’s what ‘collar a hot’ means_ ”, Anthony quietly, but excitedly, thinks to himself. Outwardly, he adds, “And I want them to eat at my house to finally have that celebratory dinner for Monica getting the Silver Curtain’s headliner spot. Also, Rumiko, Virginia, and Jarvis would _love_ to meet them.” 

“This has my full seal of consent and approval, too”, James says. “There’s nothin’ about this that I don’t want.” 

“Right!” 

“Right!” 

“Good.”

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

It’s the nth time they’re standing there smiling stupidly at each other again, but they couldn’t care less. Several moments pass before they realize that they’re still standing so close to each other that they’re in range for a kiss. 

And their hands are still joined on Anthony’s chest. 

_Oh_ , they’ve missed the feeling of holding the other man’s hand. They plan to do so much, much more often in the future-as often as they like. And if they both had their way, they’d spend the rest of the day holding each other’s hand. The found boundless warmth and familiarity at the contact is priceless to them. 

But there are things to do. Things to rectify. 

And so they reluctantly disengage from each other. 

James voice is soft as he bids Anthony goodbye. “Well, I’ll go ahead an’ get things rollin’, huh?” 

Anthony nods and his voice is just as soft. “Yeah, James. And I’ll stand by and wait for your call. Uhh…same number, by the way.” 

“Oh, I thought so”, James chuckles. 

Anthony chuckles, too. He steps back, ready to walk back to where Jarvis is waiting for him and head home. 

But something in James’ face stops him. James is looking at him…James is seeing him again as though the flat cap and glasses aren’t there at all. James is _seeing_ him.

And just as with all the previous times, but especially now, Anthony can’t find it in him to be alarmed, can’t find it in him to desperately want to duck and hide away. 

James Rhodes sees him easily and perfectly and Anthony can do nothing but be beheld within James’ gaze. 

So Anthony stands still and waits for the other man’s next move. James’ eyes are searching his face again and in the next moment, James steps forward…

…And clasps Anthony in a tight, warm hug. 

His arms squeeze around Anthony’s back and shoulders, holding him warm and flush against his chest. 

As soon as the initial shock wears off, Anthony can do nothing but hold James back just as tightly, just as warmly. He squeezes James’ waist and then they’re both flush together and they do nothing but revel in the feeling of being in each other’s arms again. 

James gives him another squeeze and whispers, “I’ll see you later, Tones.” 

If James’ declaration that he _knows_ him took away that stabbing, twisting thing and the vacuum from his heart, then the revival of that nickname all but makes Anthony forget that it had ever been there to begin with. 

A shuddering breath ripples through Anthony and he too hug James even closer. He whispers back, “Yeah, I’ll see you later, Rhodey.” 

James smiles against his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, Tony's mansion is just [the Avengers' mansion/headquarters](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avengers_Mansion)! I had no idea until I researched it, teehee! 
> 
> Also, Jarvis calling Rhodey "darling" and "dear" is everything, ain't it? Why, it's the whole reason for everything!! :D 
> 
> As always, lemme know what you think, dears! :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, loves! _So sorry_ that this took so long! Amarie is back in school and it's quite the kicker, teehee! 
> 
> But there's our next chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it. May you all have a happy end of September and an even happier October! :D

Monica quietly stirs sugar into her coffee. 

Charles takes a sip from his. 

And James struggles not to grip his too tightly. 

Breaking the news to them is both easier than James thought it’d be…and harder. 

It’s easier than he thought because as soon as he said he wanted to sit down at his kitchen table to talk to them about something, the expression on their faces told him that they both knew what he was going to say. Hell, their expressions didn’t even change as he talked. And, shit, if James stays honest with himself, he’s not surprised either; he knew they knew. 

They already knew who strong-armed Conway to repair and clean up West Harlem. They already knew who James went to see yesterday morning when they woke up to that note from him saying that he’s “gone for a walk”. And they most definitely already knew what James was going to announce as soon as they saw his face. 

They already knew. 

So that part is easy. 

But now the part that is harder is the fact that, now that everything is out on the table…they’re both quiet. 

James swallows, sits still, and simply waits for them to finally say…something. Anything. He’ll even take them denying him their blessing and demanding to know when he lost his damn mind if it means this silence doesn’t last another second. 

Charles takes another two or three sips of his coffee and then mercifully breaks his best friend out of his misery. Though there’s a crease in his brow, Charles’ eyes are warm and contemplative behind his glasses as he regards James. 

His voice is the same as his eyes. “…You’re certain that this is what you really want, James?” 

James nods immediately, relaxing just enough to let the tiniest smile come to his lips. “Yeah, Charles. I really, truly, honestly _do_ want this. And it’s all more than alrigh’. I promise.” 

“And… _Anthony Stark_ also humbly requests permission to come over here to ‘re-meet’ us in all honesty this time.” 

“Yep!” 

That damned silence makes a comeback as Charles’ eyes quietly search James’ face in as many times this morning. But he soon finds what he’s supposed to find in the other man’s face. Honesty. Eagerness. Consent. 

Charles lets an answering tiny smile grace his own lips. 

“Okay, James”, he says. “Go ahead and bring Anthony over.” 

James’ eyes shine. “Y’mean it?!” 

“I do”, Charles confirms, nodding and smiling just a little wider. 

James’ own smile grows wider…and then he turns to Monica. 

Who is still quiet. 

She looks thoroughly engrossed in adding more sugar to her coffee. Both Charles and James wait with bated breath as she takes her sweet, sweet time stirring her beverage around, and then carefully setting the spoon on her saucer. She closes her eyes as she takes a few sips. 

And when she puts her coffee cup back down on the table, the muted _c-clink_ reverberates all through Charles and James’ ears. 

Monica looks down into the depths of her coffee and in her eyes James sees a glint of something that he’s seldom seen there. 

But then Monica lifts her head and gives him a smile that just manages to reach her eyes. Quietly, she says, “Yeah, James. Sure. Bring Anthony on over here.” 

-

“…Tony?” 

“…Yeah, Rhodey?” 

“I dunno, but maybe…look, I jus’ need you to help me out here, ‘kay?” 

“‘Kay. What d’you need help with?”

“Well...that hat _is_ coming off your head soon, righ’?” 

“Right…?” 

“So…what, again, _precisely_ is the point of checking to make sure that it’s perfectly straight on your head for the fourth time again if it’s gonna have to come off anyway? Along with your glasses? I say ‘again’ ‘cause I’m sure you must’ve run it by me at least once.” James shrugs. “Just once.” 

Anthony completely stops in the middle of using James’ bathroom mirror to aid in readjusting his flat cap for-yes, indeed-the fourth time. His eyes lock with the other man’s behind him in the mirror’s reflection. He futilely struggles not to pout. 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt that everything _starts off_ being straight, does it?” Anthony grumbles. 

James smiles softly from where he’s leaning against the opposite wall. “Y’know, I don’ quite _think_ it hurts if it starts off that way…but ‘M pretty sure it doesn’t hurt the other way, either.” 

“ _James_ ”, Anthony sighs as he fiddles with his hat once again. “I have to make twice as good a first impression this time! And, hell, really _thrice_ as good ‘cause I have shit to explain to them and _then_ try to convince them to come over my house for Monica’s celebratory dinner. I just…I gotta…” 

“And I know you do!” James agrees. “I ain’ said you didn’t. But just remember that I already warmed them up a bit and so that makes at least part of your job easier, doesn’ it?” 

“Maybe…I guess. But I’m still a nervous wreck.” 

James’ smile becomes a chuckle full of fond exasperation and he pushes off the wall to come up behind the other man. He gently turns Anthony away from the mirror so they’re facing each other.

“Here, now”, James softly comforts. “Since you’re so convinced you’re doin’ a shit job at fixing yourself up for Moni and Charles, then let me give it a try, hmm?” 

Anthony nods fervently with relief and then tries his best to stay still in James’ capable, gentle hands. “Y-yeah. That sounds good. Great. Wonderful. Sounds like a-a plan.” 

James beams at Anthony as he whips off his flat cap to go to work on his hair. Blissful quiet falls over James’ bathroom and it smothers a good bit of Anthony’s nerves. To keep himself as calm as possible, he places his hands on James’ firm waist and just feels his warmth through his shirt, feels him breathe; James winks at him as he keeps working. 

It’s incredible. 

They’ve fallen right back into their original relationship dynamic. Their gentle, affectionate dynamic that’s chock full of teasing, bantering and just general ease and comfortability in each other’s company is right there and strong as ever, almost like it never left at all. James easily calls his friend “Anthony” and “Tony” interchangeably and, just as easily, Anthony interchanges “James” and “Rhodey”. They still keep their tally of fucking with each other. 

They still hold each other’s hands. Hell, they held hands as they walked into James’ bathroom together and didn’t let go until Anthony struggled with his attire in the mirror. 

And they know they’ll most-definitely hold hands again on the way to Monica and Charles’ home just next door. 

Maybe…maybe it’s not incredible so much because of how easy it is, but maybe it’s incredible because neither one of them are really surprised about it. But either way, neither one of them would trade it in for anything. 

James gives one final adjustment to Anthony’s hair and replaces his flat cap. He then works diligently to make certain that it’s perfectly centered on Anthony’s head; James even deliberately frowns and sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth, a gesture so adorable that Anthony can’t help but chortle at it. James gives him yet another wink in response. 

And then James is bringing his hands down to smooth over Anthony’s chest. He smiles warm and bright. “There. You’re all set!” 

Anthony squeezes James’ waist and gives the same smile back. “Thanks, Rhodey. But, uhh…you remember our deal-”

“ _Yes_ , I remember, Tones: I already went in first, told Moni an’ Charles the situation, and vouched for you best I could. And now it’s your turn to go in and make your case yourself without my interference. Hell, I’ll just stand right beside you an’ not say a word. How’s that?”

“Yeah. Okay, sure. Th-that works. Yeah, I like that, Rhodey”, Anthony agrees in his trademark nervous rapid fire succession. 

“Great!” James slides his hands from Anthony’s chest to warmly rub his shoulders. “So you all set and ready?” 

“Absolutely not…so let’s go.” 

Anthony clasps James’ hand the entire, very, very short walk to the neighboring apartment. And at the very least, Anthony lets James be the one to knock on Monica and Charles’ door. 

Charles is the one to answer. 

The smile on his face and his eyes behind his spectacles are just off the edge of chilly as his gaze rakes over Anthony’s hat and glasses. None of the three men say a word and, in that lack of sound, a tension builds and builds and builds until the silence fills the doorway with its thickness. It could almost be the kind of silence that could be cut with a knife…but none of them are sure there’s a knife in the world that’s sharp enough. 

In the next instance, Charles decides to cut that silence himself by just slightly widening his smile and shuttering his eyes. He clears his throat and simply, politely greets, “Hello.” 

Anthony has a death grip on James’ hand by now; he makes a mental note to rub and massage James’ hand later in both thanks and apology. He forces his concentration away from the warm, steadying feeling of James’ hand in his and to the matter at hand. With his free hand that miraculously doesn’t shake, he tips his flat cap to Charles and smiles wide and warm. 

“Hello”, he returns. 

“Since this is going to be a…significant conversation, I suspect that it would be best for us to take this inside?” Charles asks. 

Anthony nods without too much jerking. “Y-yes, I agree with that. I-I think that would be best, too.” 

Charles steps aside so the other two men can enter. “Then please do come in.” 

James and Anthony share a glance that Charles doesn’t miss as they step over the threshold and into the apartment. Anthony is sure that he’s never in his life heard the _click_ of a door shutting in place more than right now. 

They scent hot, fresh coffee. They see Monica standing beside the kitchen table. 

And there’s that glint of that thing James seldom sees in her eyes and it stays there even as she smiles at Anthony in greeting while Charles comes to stand beside her. Anthony, too, sees that something in her eyes, though he can’t say what it is. He reminds himself not to squeeze James’ hand clean off and gives her a smile right back. 

“Hello, there”, Monica says. 

“H-hello”, Anthony returns. 

There’s that thick, tense silence again and Anthony glances at James for a helpful cue before remembering that James has already said his piece and it’s his turn now. And the first part of actually starting his turn means…he should let James’ hand go. 

While Monica and Charles wait, Anthony takes one quick, steadying breath in and does just that. Amazingly, his hands stay steady while he removes his glasses and flat cap. Even at the sight of Anthony Stark fully bare to them, Monica and Charles’ faces don’t change. He reminds himself that this…this is good because it means that the only surprise left to reveal here is him inviting them to dinner at his house. 

Clearing his throat, he continues, “H-hi. Again. I’m…well, I initially told you-and James, for that matter-that I’m ‘Tony Carbonell’, but I’m actually Anthony Stark. My name is ‘Anthony Stark’. And i-it’s a pleasure to meet you two…again. So…hi.” 

He grips his flat cap as though it were James’ hand. “And I’m _deeply_ sorry for lying to James and, by extension, you two about my identity. I d-didn’t come clean for a long time because I was basically scared and w-well, see, I…I let that take over my better judgement and I…well, here I am. Having t-to, y’know, correct that.” He clears his throat yet again. “So hello to you…again. Honestly. And I’m very, deeply, truly sorry.” 

For a long, long time, it’s silent in the apartment. Absolutely silent. The longer it goes on, the more Anthony has to force himself not to grab James’ hand in yet another death grip. 

Charles is the one to break it. 

“And…you feel compelled to make these amends simply because it’s the right thing to do?” He inquires. 

Anthony nods fervently. “ _Yes._ The only thing I know that would’ve made this better would be if I’d done this much, much sooner.” He gives a smile that’s just as welcoming and friendly as it is nervous. “And I understand that it’ll take time-uhh, that is if it _does_ happen-but I-I do hope to eventually call you two friends-”

Charles cuts him off, voice like slivered steel. “On the contrary, I don’t like or trust you at all. So I do not see any kind of friendship in the near future.” 

Despite feeling as if he’s been cut straight down through the floor, Anthony nods and replies, “I understand. I do.” 

But Charles continues and just a glimmer of warmth comes through the chilliness in his eyes. His eyes drift down to the space where Anthony and James were just holding hands. “However, since our James readily likes and forgives you, I suppose there’s possibly something redeemable to be had in you. I can’t quite imagine that anyone deserves James, but…if it has to be _you_ of all people that James chose, then…I’ll likely come around to liking and befriending you. With time.” 

This time, it’s sheer relief that makes Anthony feel as though he’s going to go straight down through the floor. He can’t help the wide, blinding beam he gives Charles and, somehow, his beam only grows wider and brighter when Charles gives him a teeny smile back. 

He can feel James smiling softly next to him. But Monica…there’s still that unidentified something in her eyes. 

Anthony fingers the brim of his flat cap and starts on the deeper dive. “Well, would you mind if some of that ‘time’ was spent at my house? I’d…I’d like you all to come to my house.” 

Charles completely stops at that, eyes wide and blinking behind his glasses. “You are…inviting us…to your house? So soon?” 

“Yes! Yes, I am!”

That something in Monica’s carnelian eyes flares to full fruition: hardness. 

Ice, cold hardness. 

It blankets the entire room and its occupants in a ringing, screeching silence the likes of which few experience. The three men’s eyes snap over to Monica and they freeze in place; just the sound of their breathing sounds far, far too loud in the stilled air. Every last bit of Monica’s glaring eyes is directed at Anthony and Anthony alone. 

Her voice is every bit as frigid and hard as her eyes. “And do what? _Clean_ it?”

Anthony’s gasp is an elephant crashing through the apartment. His eyes flare wide open and his jaw drops right to the floor; he damn near drops his flat cap and glasses. He looks helplessly, desperately to James for some kind of cue, some kind of…dammit, _something_. 

But James only pulls his lips in, raises his eyebrows, and shrugs. 

Oh, right. James already did his part and so that’s it and that’s all. 

It’s Anthony’s turn, now.

Anthony takes a deep, deep breath and turns back to address Monica. “U-uhh, no, not at all. I actually, s-see, my house gets clean, uhh…j-just fine on its own.” He pauses to let a nervous laugh bubble through. “On the contrary, I-I’d like you all a-at my house so we can have the dinner celebration for your winning the headliner spot at the Silver Curtain.” 

He has to take yet another deep breath before he can continue. He reminds himself that even if James isn’t talking, he’s is still standing right there next to him. “R-remember that? I-I know it was a good while ago, but…if you wouldn’t be adverse to it, yes, I-I’m inviting you to celebrate with dinner at my place.” 

As Anthony spoke, that ringing, screeching silence turned into a simply shocked silence that feels only a modicum of better. The best part of it is that some of Monica’s ice, cold hardness has given way to surprise. Her eyes snap to James who, with a small grin on his face, gives a minute nod. Her eyes then snap to Charles and she sees that his face is relaxed with a small grin, too. 

By the time Monica looks back to Anthony, most of what was in her gaze before has bled out to become a curious contemplativeness. 

In the next instant, a smile of her own comes to her face and she looks in-between Charles and James. “James? Charles? I’d like you two to leave so I can speak with Anthony. Alone.” 

All three men are completely thrown off guard and freeze once more. Monica just smiles coolly at each of them in turn as she waits for them to move it. James turns towards the door and, on the way out, clasps Anthony’s shoulder in a warm, firm grip. Charles gives that same small grin and a nod to Anthony while following James out. 

And then the door closes and it’s just Anthony and Monica. 

Alone. 

Monica moves to the coffeepot on the stove and calls out, “Y’drink coffee, Anthony?” 

Anthony swallows and fingers his flat cap to keep his hands from trembling. He wishes there was something he could do to calm his racing heart. “Well, Ms. Monica, would you believe that in my line of work, coffee is a life saver if there ever was one?” 

“ _Oh_ , I think that _would_ be somethin’ to believe if ever there was something to believe.” She looks up from getting two mugs out to wink at him. 

He lets himself smile back at her. 

Monica pours two mugs full of coffee, and then jerks her chin at the kitchen table. “Sit”, she primly invites.

Anthony does and for the longest time struggles to figure out what the hell to do with his flat cap and glasses and, most importantly, with his hands. It’s about an eternity later when he decides to just set his accessories to the side of him and quietly fold his hands in his lap. His heart is still pounding. 

Monica comes over balancing a platter sporting their coffee mugs, a little pitcher of milk with an adorable little chip in its spout, two spoons, and a little dish of sugar. She demurely sets everything out on the table, and then sits across from Anthony. 

As she scoots her chair in, she says, “I hope that you don’ mind there’s no fancy honey here for your coffee…if you take honey in your coffee at all.” 

He immediately shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no! I don’t take honey in my coffee, but even if I did, this is _more_ than just fine. I-I thank you very much for treating me to coffee in your home at all. This is wonderful!” 

She smiles at that and then it’s quiet as they take turns adding milk and sugar to their beverages as they desire. Anthony takes one sip and, not for the first time since sampling Harlem-style food, _dies_. His eyes cross and he swears he melts right through his chair and there’s nothing that’ll be able to get him out of it. 

Monica giggles over her own mug. “Hits the spot just right, don’t it?” 

“ _Yes_.” He giggles back at her. He can feel his heart calming. “D-did you make this, Ms. Monica-?” 

“‘Monica’. Just ‘Monica’”, she corrects. “And yes, for once I did make it this time. It’s usually Charles that makes coffee and makes it this good. I dunno how my man does it, but no matter how weak or how strong people like their coffee, he always gets it _just_ right there in the middle. Don’ even need a measuring cup, but that’s my Charles.” 

Anthony’s eyes glimmer with warmth. “You two are very, very lucky to have each other. Monica.” 

“Thanks. I know we are.” 

“A-and you know, it’s a _really_ great surprise to be treated to such delicious coffee.” 

Monica leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. She swirls her coffee around. “Uh huh. And it’s an even _greater_ surprise that I have the one and only Anthony Stark at my table complementing me on my rarely-made coffee. Never woulda thought of it.” 

He laughs softly and assures her, “No, no, _I’m_ surprised to be sitting at Monica Lynne’s table. I really am.” 

Monica only gives him a little smile in return. She idly fingers the handle of her mug, her face somber and thoughtful. Anthony stays quiet, knowing that she’s gathering her thoughts for what this private conversation is really about. In the renewed silence, his heart starts pounding again and he struggles to distract himself by indulging in his drink. 

When Monica finally does speak, there’s a slight hesitance to her voice. “Surprises…there’s been a lotta surprises ‘round here. There was the surprise when you first came to meet us.” She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “We ain’t known you were Anthony Stark, but we had a strong feelin’ you were different. Too different to even be from Sugar Hill.” 

Anthony nods even as he winces. “ _Very_ different.” 

“ _Very._ ” Monica agrees. 

“So you really gave us a shock and James, Charles, and I, we…talked about it over our next poker night. Kinda became an altercation. James knew you were just different too, but he was so sure you weren’t being untruthful to him about anythin’ while Charles and I just had a feeling about you, y’know?”

Anthony nods again. 

Monica continues, “So it was a bit of a fight, but we managed to resolve it. Now see, Charles stayed suspicious of you an’, yeah, he’s actually the one that confirmed to James that...you are who you are.” 

She leans slightly out of her chair and a good bit of that ice, cold hardness comes back. “But the big thing is that _I’m_ the one that stood up and vouched for you and your relationship with our James. Even as we knew you weren’ being honest, I still spoke up and said that you weren’t tryna hurt him and that, in fact, you look at him like he’s your whole universe.” 

Anthony inclines his head and, indeed, there comes that look in his eyes for James. Just for James. “I do look at him that way. I do feel that way about him.” 

“Yeah. You do.” 

Monica fiddles with her mug handle again. She has to close her eyes for a long, long time before she can open them and continue. “So I stood up for you and your relationship with James. And what I got for that in return was finding one of my very best friends passed out on the floor of his bedroom after what had to be a whole night of sobbin’ and makin’ a right mess of himself.” 

A sheen of unshed tears glimmers in her eyes. “I want you to know that neither Charles nor I have never seen him that way before.” 

Raw, naked shame washes through and over Anthony. Still, he forces himself to stay quiet. 

“But _then_ you still weren’t done, were you?” Monica continues. “Conway gets the unsegregated parts of West Harlem fucked up…an’ here you came, swift and silent, to make sure every last bit of it and its people were righted. Hell, you even made that bowler-hat-wearin’ bastard write us bonus checks outta his own pocket.”

Anthony winces. “Monica, I only meant to-”

Monica closes her eyes and holds up a finger. Anthony falls silent. 

She opens her eyes again. “No, you don’ have to explain those parts to me. You ain’ gotta explain why you put the fear of god in Conway and made him clean and repair West Harlem, compensate the people that work an’ perform in there, _and_ specifically apologize to me. You ain’ gotta explain why you did all of that _quietly_. And from all of that, you certainly ain’ gotta explain what my James sees in you and what you see in him-suffice t’say that I’ve seen more than enough to know.” 

“All of that I already understand; all of that you ain’ gotta say a word on. You dig?”

Anthony nods fervently. 

She learns forward. “Charles and James already trust an’ believe you, even if Charles don’ exactly like you all that much just yet. But again, it was me that originally stood up for you and what you have with James. Whether you knew it or not, I trusted you and you done went an’ broke that. I don’ appreciate having my trust violated and, as a direct result of that, seeing my best friend in pain.” 

“Now, if we never ever saw you again…then that woulda been that and we’d move on an’ stay strong ‘cause that’s how we always do. But you _are_ back here, explicitly askin’ for our good favor and so _this_ is what you do have to explain to me: what guarantee are you gonna give me that I’m never gonna find my best friend like that ever again because of _you_?”

Carnelian and steel blue bore into each other. That silence comes over the apartment again. 

Anthony grips his mug tightly in both hands, feeling the heat that’s just off scalding. He glances between his drink and Monica, gauging if he can ask a question before he answers hers. By her face, he deems it safe to take the leap. 

“ _That’s_ your only question for me? The only guarantee you want from me?” 

“Uh huh.” 

He tilts his head and can’t help the confused and humbled crease in his brow. “Y-you don’t question what I want with James?” 

Monica raises a lazy eyebrow and gives just as lazy a lopsided smile. “No. He’s James Rhodes. What more need you say?” 

“And…you _really_ don’t ask why I did what I did for West Harlem and you, specifically?” 

That eyebrow rises just a little higher. “…If I had to ask after that, then that’d take us straight back to a square one where I’d be wonderin’ what you’re doin’ with James, right?” 

Anthony nods slowly. “Right.” 

“Right. So…you were gonna answer the question I _did_ ask?”

Anthony nods again. He slides his coffee cup out of the way and leans forward. Steel blue and carnelian bore into each other again. 

“Well first I want to reiterate that I am truly, _deeply_ sorry for putting James through what I did in the first place. I was being inexcusably cowardly and selfish and I put that before James. It took…more wake-up calls than it should’ve, but I’m not that person anymore and I never will be.” 

“I really didn’t think that James would give me a second chance at all. But he did and now I have the chance to make it even better and it’s not an option to me to let that chance pass by. Your and Charles’ best friend is someone that I care about very, very deeply about and I assure you _and_ him that I’ve learn and grown enough to now include ‘respect’ in that mix.”

It’s once again silent in the apartment and, for the third time, steel blue and carnelian bore into each other. 

And then Monica smiles at him. Big and wide and happy, she smiles at him. 

“Then yes, Anthony Stark”, she says. “Yes, you may serve us my celebration dinner at your house.” 

-

Rumiko and Virginia haven’t let go of him ever since he told them the news. 

“We are so _proud_ of you, Anthony”, Rumiko breathes. 

“Oh my god, we almost thought you’d never do it. But you _did_ ”, Virginia gleefully adds. 

Anthony laughs softly and hugs them back as close and tight as he can, what with only one arm around each of their waists. “Thanks, you two. But honestly, all I did was the right thing. I mean, I’m _more_ than happy that James and his friends accepted me back, but I really only did what I was supposed to do in the first place.” 

The three of them sit together on one of the first floor west wing parlor’s futons. Rumiko and Virginia have been making a squished-Anthony-sandwich for the past ten minutes and Anthony would honestly be nowhere else right now. 

Virginia pulls away slightly and there’s a happy glistening in her eyes. “Yeah, you did just do the right thing, what you were supposed to do.” She brushes a hand over his hair. “But there’s still the fact that you were brave enough to do it at all.” 

“ _And_ now James, Monica, _and_ Charles are coming over for dinner! This means they’ll probably come over a lot more after this!” Rumiko squeals. 

“And it’s not just ‘Monica’, but Monica fucking _Lynne!_ ” Virginia gushes. “The Silver Curtain one! I can’t believe she’s letting us host a celebration dinner for her right here!” 

“Oh, but it probably would’ve been _fantastic_ to see her audition, let alone her debut performance”, Rumiko sighs. 

Anthony’s face just may split from his best friends’ excitement…along with the fact that they’re coming back to the mansion. It shouldn’t take too much time or effort; they both only packed the equivalent of overnight bags and otherwise graciously asked Jarvis to bring them anything they needed from the mansion. There are no suitcases to worry about. 

He hugs them both close just one more time and then gently cuts through the gushing. “Ladies, we do still have a celebration dinner to prepare for her, though! So you’ll both be meeting her in person soon enough.” 

“Oh, that’s right!” Virginia says. “We’re all agreed that it’s going to be this coming Saturday, right? That’ll give us the whole week to get ready.” 

Rumiko winces and looks sympathetically at Virginia. “Oh, that’ll mean you’ll have to put your magic on overdrive to work that agenda around and I’ll have to work a little magic of my own to weave around those social functions on Saturday…” 

Virginia nods and winces, too. “It’ll be quite the pinch, but I’m more than sure we can pull it off. We’ve done it before, haven’t we?” 

“And I’ll be here to help in any way I can”, Anthony adds. 

Jarvis appears in the doorway, looking just as happy to have the Stark Estate full of three young people once again. “On that note, _I_ of course will be the one to make the actual preparations for the dinner and the estate overall.” 

Rumiko bounces where she sits. “Hey, Jarvis, y’think you’ll help us make a nice, big banner for Monica? 

“Oh, you can use one of the flashier templates we use for Stark Industry galas! You and V!” Anthony exclaims. 

Virginia’s eyes shine as she looks over at Rumiko. “I’ll help you pick one out and then we’ll decorate it together!” 

Anthony looks over at Jarvis. “And Jarvis? Can we serve soufflés for dessert? All kinds of different flavors, too?” 

Jarvis inclines his head. “It would be my upmost pleasure, Anthony.” 

Rumiko and Virginia look just about to shoot straight through the roof. 

-

News of West Harlem’s ongoing clean-up and repair travels far and wide. It ripples through every last Black newspaper, every last Black establishment. Yet even as the news spreads, a great many don’t dare to believe, don’t dare to hope; there are still tense tendrils of fear threading through Harlem and several other parts of New York City. 

But the news still spreads and spreads and soon there are whole, brand new crowds of people coming to watch the rapid reconstructions. Their faces are combinations of awe and wonder and tearful happiness and renewed hope. The people that left for the other New York boroughs and for the open arms of friends and family in Chinatown and Little Italy flock back to their homes in Harlem. Some stay just a bit longer at the insistence of their hosts, but soon return all the same. 

Circulating amongst all the celebration is rumors of who exactly did this and did this _so quietly_ that neither name nor claim can be found in the papers or on the radio. People ask around, share theories, and wonder. The mystery doesn’t detract from the happiness-if anything, it only adds to it. 

Meanwhile, on that Saturday evening, a Chrysler Model B-70 quietly picks up three young people from Central Park and just as quietly takes them to the Stark Estate.

-

“Goodness _gracious_ , this place is jus’ magnificent”, Monica exclaims as Jarvis opens the passenger door for her. 

“Indeed, it’s all but unreal”, Charles agrees as he slides out of the car after her. 

James comes last and grins. “Yeah, I know. Pretty much had the same reaction when I first came here. And, uhh…well, still do have that reaction.”

Jarvis beams so much at the three of them that the driver’s cap just may come off his head. He closes the Chrysler’s passenger door and leads them towards the front steps. “Welcome, welcome, _welcome_ to the Stark Estate, dears. As I’ve told James and, so now I am telling you, Monica and Charles: our home is your home.” 

Charles cocks his head. “Are you sure about that, Jarvis? Because the three of us share a budget and, while it does allow us to get by, we’re not _quite_ sure that a mansion such as this could ever be part of it.” 

All four of them laugh as they ascend the front steps. 

“And Monica, dear”, Jarvis says. “We do hope that you in particular will enjoy the dinner this evening. If anything is not to your liking, please do not hesitate to inform me at once.” 

Monica scoffs as she runs her hand up the beige stone balustrade. “Oh, Jarvis, no need to beat up your gums ‘bout that! No need for that at all!” 

Jarvis holds one of the double doors open for them. The three of them step inside and-

“Oh _my_ …” Monica breathes. 

Dominating the foyer is a huge, glittering, purple-and-silver banner with _Congratulations, Monica Lynne!’_ emblazoned upon it in painstakingly-formed cursive letters. The banner below that is slightly smaller, but just as celebratory and says _‘Welcome, Charles & James!’_ In the places where the banners are held up, glistening, multi-colored ribbons twirl and shimmer in the air. Balloons that are just as multicolored as the ribbons are everywhere; they wrap festively around pillars, are on either side of every visible archway and doorway, and twine around the stairs’ balustrade. 

And one can tell both just how delicious dinner will be and just how far away the kitchen is by the faint, faint scent of tantalizing food. 

Monica looks back from gawking at all the splendor to see Anthony Stark standing with two women who must be Rumiko Fujikawa, holding a fresh bouquet of carnations for her, and Virginia Potts, holding a wrapped present for her. 

Two women that are staring at her as though she’s something out of a fairy tale. 

Monica manages to give a teeny, teeny smile to Rumiko. She looks warily at Virginia. 

“Oh my _god_. James is real. Charles is real. And they brought Monica Lynne with them-Monica Lynne is fucking _real_ ”, Rumiko stage whispers. 

Virginia shakes her head and stage whispers back, “…No, I’m still not convinced. She’s too pretty. Maybe we’re all just suffering from low blood sugar-”

“Nope”, Rumiko counters. “She’s real. I mean, y’smell that? Th-that special Madame CJ Walker. I know that scent. Smells too good to be unreal-”

“ _Exactly_ , Rumi”, Virginia stresses. “It ‘smells too good to be unreal’. So extend that logic, and it has to be unreal- _she’s_ unreal.” 

Rumiko starts bouncing in place. “But _James_ is here, too! So is Charles! After two long, long months they’re all three finally here! It has to be real!” 

Anthony smiles apologetically at his three new guests, and then stares hard at his two best friends. “For god’s sakes would you two just _stop_?! They haven’t even sat down yet, and you’re already making them uncomfortable!” 

“We don’t mean to! It’s just that it’s really Monica Lynne!” Virginia says. 

“Yeah, she’s-”

“Well, would you at least stop with the obnoxious whispering?” Anthony laments. “And talking about them like they’re not standing not five feet from us?! Could you try to tone that down just a _little?!_ ”

Rumiko blinks. “Oh my god, we were stage whispering, huh…?”

Anthony rolls his eyes heavenward for help that’s unforthcoming.

“…And Monica Lynne is still standing right here”, Virginia breathes. “So a-are Charles and James. They may _just_ be real-” 

“Well, this Monica Lynne”, Monica cuts in. She extends her hand with a warm smile. “…would like ya’ll to know that she’s _very_ much real an’ she’s _very_ much happy and grateful to be here. So, hello! James, Charles, an’ I are real and we thank ya’ll so much for inviting us!” 

Rumiko’s face threatens to split in half as she takes Monica’s hand in her free hand. She pumps up and down, shaking both their arms. “No, no, please. The pleasure is _all_ ours! It really is! Why, I feel like we’re all best friends already! I-I mean, if _you_ want to be best friends, that is!” 

Monica looks between the two of them as she next shakes Virginia’s hand. “You two…wanna be best friends with me?” 

Virginia laughs nervously as she gently takes Monica’s hand in hers. “Oh, I’m just a glorified accountant and you’re a singing _headliner_. You’re way too cool to be best friends with me, but you and Rumi-”

“Oh, shut up, V”, Rumiko scoffs with an eye roll. “You dress me about as much as I dress you. You’re cool enough to be my best friend, so you’re probably just fine to be Monica’s.” 

“Y’know, I think that jus’ might be true”, Monica agrees. She gives Virginia a wink that’s returned with a beam. 

They happily hand Monica the carnations and the wrapped present. 

Their collective attention turns to Monica’s man. Virginia extends her hand to him and chirps, “And _you_ must be the brilliant Charles! We had to wait just as long to meet you and now it’s such a pleasure!”

Charles’ face, too, just might split from how wide he’s smiling. “Please, the pleasure is all mine.” 

Rumiko is next to shake Charles’ hand. “Ahh, we can’t _tell_ you how wonderful and relieving it is to finally be able to put a nice name with an even nicer face!” 

“It’s mutual-definitely mutual”, Charles says. 

Then, Rumiko and Virginia’s gazes turn on the third and last member of Monica’s party. 

And they just gaze. 

“So _this_ is James, hmm?” Virginia asks. 

James swallows down the sudden nervousness that’s stirring in his stomach and puts a smile on his face for them. “Y-yeah, I guess that’s me. Uhh…I hear you’ve really were wantin’ to see me and, like Charles says, it’s mutual. So hey there to both of you.” 

Rumiko contemplatively rubs her chin and her eyes shine. She looks back and forth between James and Anthony. Virginia does the same, her own eyes squinting and a quiet little smile on her face. Both James and Anthony are about to vibrate out of their skin with the urge to ask someone for help, someone to explain what the hell is going on when Rumiko speaks again. 

“Yeah…I thought so”, she quietly remarks. She turns to Monica, who too sports a little smile. “Monica, dear, didja...?” 

Monica nods. “Sure did. Now, I ain’ said it _directly_. But yeah, it ain’t slipped past me or Charles.” 

“In fact”, Charles adds. “It was probably even before Anthony came over to meet us that first time. Or at least, it was beginning.” 

“See, that was a huge part of the frustration!” Virginia says. “We had that feeling too, but Anthony, well…among other things that we all remember, he just kept never bringing James over so we could see it for ourselves.” 

Rumiko beams and clasps her hands together. “But now we can see it, and it’s simply _lovely_ , isn’t it?” 

“And ‘bout time, too!” Monica agrees. 

James’ left eye twitches. “… _What_ are ya’ll talkin’ about?” 

“Yeah, what in the world is going on here?” Anthony asks. 

“Well, what’s going on here is…what’s goin’ on”, Monica says. 

“It’s nothing you two need to worry about too much”, Virginia reassures them. “I think it’s going as smoothly as it could ever go.” 

Rumiko chimes in, “Y’know, the word ‘smoothly’ might not even cover how nice it is.” 

“But the important thing is that you both know there’s really nothing to worry about”, Charles says. 

James and Anthony stare. 

Rumiko and Virginia finally shake James’ hand. James and Anthony want to demand again to know what the hell the other four are talking about. 

But they’re interrupted by Jarvis coming from what must be the kitchen to announce that Monica’s celebration dinner will be served in ten minutes. He suggests that, until then, they’d all be much, much more comfortable retiring to one of the parlors where Monica can open and enjoy her present. 

They take the suggestion with Anthony leading the way and Monica right behind him. Monica and Charles do a double take of the parlor’s splendor and James, though he’s seen it before, does one, too. Anthony, Rumiko, and Virginia insist that Monica, Charles, and James sit on the plushiest futon together while they sit on the opposite one. 

Monica unwraps her present and finds that it’s the most beautiful cloche hat she’s ever seen. It’s a bright, bright yellow that’s the shade of robust gold. The brim is just a tad wider than most cloche hats and thus provides modest shade from the sun. All along its band are multicolored sequins arranged in intricate, interloping waves. Out of the band are two white feathers standing straight up together; they appear to shimmer and glisten in the lamplight. 

“Well now, this is _somethin’_ ”, Monica breathes. Thank ya’ll. Thank ya’ll so, _so_ much! I’ll wear this with my very next outfit!” 

“We’re so glad that you like it!” Virginia exclaims. 

“No, I _love_ it! Y’know, I actually collect cloche hats big time.” 

Charles grins. “A lot of them actually have to stay in James’ closet.” 

Rumiko’s eyes are shining all over again. She leans forward. “You collect cloche hats, too?! Anthony told us from James that you love fashion just as much as I do and V does a little bit of fashion herself! So d’you collect jewelry and perfume, too?” 

“Well, I live on a bit of a…tighter budget than ya’ll do ‘round here, so I jus’ leave my collecting to cloche hats-”

“Then that’s all the more perfect reason for us to share clothes with you!” Rumiko squeals. “When do you think you can next come over?!” 

Virginia is leaning forward, too. “And please don’t worry about having to reschedule yourself with your rehearsals and performances- _please_. Rumi and V just reschedule ourselves all the time and we’re _more_ than happy to do it for you.” 

“Yeah! By the way, what size are you? I think you just might be the same as V and me, but even if you aren’t, that’s just fine!” 

Monica blinks, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Still, a hint of a smile plays at the edges of her lips. “Well, uhh…I don’ mind _borrowin’_ your clothes, I guess, but…sure. Yeah, I’d love to come over and dress up and make up with ya’ll two.” 

Virginia and Rumiko wear smiles that are far too innocent. 

“Of course! ‘Borrow’-that’s exactly what we meant.” 

“Yep! That’s it!” 

Anthony glances at Charles and James over the three women’s heads. “…Do we even exist anymore?” 

Charles shakes his head. “No, we don’t.” 

Virginia rolls her eyes at Anthony and scoffs. “No, you don’t. Now kindly shut _up_ , Anthony.” 

“Yeah, we’re trying to make a new best friend over here!” Rumiko says, gesturing to Monica. “A new best friend that, by the way, you took forever to get over here to us.” 

Monica giggles. “Anthony, baby, they always gang up on you like this?” 

Anthony pouts at Monica. “They do. Every single day, all day. I have not a moment’s to rest. Mine is an existence I’d wish on no one, especially you. So run, Monica- _run_.”

Laughter rings through the parlor, and then Jarvis comes in to cheerfully announce that dinner is ready and they should all take their seats in the dining room. Anthony leads the way yet again and, yet again, the Stark Estate’s three guests have to stop and do a double-take of the dining room. Most especially the dining table, which is set for a-”

“Ten course dinner?” Monica croaks. “Is that…are we really…?” 

Charles’ eyes are wide behind his glasses. “Well, Moni…knowing Anthony, I suppose we should be grateful that it’s not a twenty course dinner, yes? By the way, whatever is cooking in the kitchen smells delicious.” 

“Yeah, it does…but is there even any such thing as a ‘twenty course dinner’?” James quietly asks. 

“I’m sure that even if there wasn’t, your friend here would find a way to create one”, Charles snorts. 

Anthony laughs and then pulls out the chair at the head of the table, closest to the ornate, lit fireplace. “Monica, you sit here. It’s, umm…it’s not the Silver Curtain, but it’s the best seat around here at least.” 

“Oh _my_. Well, this is such a nice chair, so I guess I could sit…” Monica delicately settles down onto the chair and lets Anthony push her in. 

Charles sits to her right and James to her left. Next, Rumiko sits beside James and it’s Virginia on Charles’ side and finally Anthony across from Monica. 

James, Monica, and Charles stare down at the table settings. 

Monica pokes the daintily-folded cloth napkin and peers at it; her heart jumps in her throat when she realizes that the little ribbon wrapped around the napkins all say ‘Congratulations, Monica!’. James bites his lip as he counts just how many different glasses there are and tries not to get a headache wondering what in the hell will go in each of them. Charles taps the plates with the very edge of a fingernail. 

“Huh”, Charles says quietly. “They’re not paper plates at all. I think these are _china_.” 

Monica leans over to her man and just as quietly asks, “‘Kay, the plates are china, but what’re we ‘sposed to do with these kinds of napkins? Like…I know we put ‘em in our laps, but how do we wipe our mouths and hands with these without gettin’ them dirty…?” 

“No, Moni. You’re supposed to wipe your hands and mouth with these”, Charles helpfully supplies. “Uhh…only dabbing, though. That way they don’t get too dirty.” 

James bites his lip again. “Yeah, but maybe…there are some real _paper_ napkins ‘round here? If…we look hard enough?” 

Monica tilts her head at him. “Could the paper napkin be _under_ the cloth one?” She lifts her napkin carefully off the plate, but finds no such other one. 

“Y’know, I’m actually still stuck on what the hell goes in all these glasses.” 

Charles scratches his chin. “I’m sure it’ll be a _liquid_. And one that’s drinkable by humans…” 

“Not _air_?” James asks. 

Anthony helpfully cuts in. “Um, Charles is right about the napkins. But you don’t have to dab if you don’t want to! A-and Jarvis can get you all paper napkins if you’re more comfortable with that!” He clears his throat. “And then th-the different glasses just go with d-different courses because every now and then, you drink certain things with c-certain dishes.” 

“But if you want, you can just have one drink with…well, everything!” Rumiko chimes in. “Just if you want, though!” 

“We’re so sorry about this being kind of…overwhelming and different. So sorry”, Virginia apologizes with a wince. 

Anthony nods a little too hard. “Y-yeah. Monica, I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted to make it a nice, big celebration for you and Jarvis wanted to do it, too; we all did. But i-if there’s anything you want us to change-even if that’s the whole thing-I totally understand. I do!” 

The entire dining room goes quiet, the only sounds being the distant movement of Jarvis busily working in the kitchen. Monica blinks once, twice…and then turns to James. 

She points at Anthony. “James, where did you _find_ this thing?” 

James splutters. “Uh, right where you put ‘this thing’-in the Hennessy Ballroom where you _and_ Charles kept houndin’ me to visit. I told ya’ll he was different but ain’ none of us knew he was _this_ different!” He throws his hands up helplessly. “He’s just bein’ nice an’ generous in his own way-he doesn’t know any other way to be.” 

“Yeah, but of _all_ the Mister Charlies with money, why’d you have to bring _this_ one home to us?” Monica laments. “I can’t handle this, now.” 

Charles smiles and gently squeezes her hand. “But Moni, we’re already here and-”

“I know we’re already here; I know we all agreed to this. But ya’ll pardon me if I say that…now I’m a lil overwhelmed. Just a lil. I mean, what’re we gettin’ into here?!” 

“Moni, Anthony is just _different_.” James sighs. “That’s all; that’s the easiest way to-”

“Do we even know which of these forks and knives an’ spoons go with which dish? All of this to collar a big ol’ hot-half of which we’ll prolly have to take home!” Monica demands. 

Charles starts, “If I’m remembering correctly, I think you’re supposed to just work your way from out to in-” 

“Charles?”

“Okay, sorry.” 

Anthony winces. “Monica, I can-”

“No, no, baby. You don’ need to change anything”, Monica sighs. She gives Anthony a smile full of warmth and tenderness. “There’s nothin’ _wrong_ here; this is simply marvelous and generous of you. It’s just that…this is all a lil overwhelming to us. I mean, we first had to dig the idea that someone as different as you is around our James an’ then we saw you again in the flesh without your disguise and…you’re really _you_ ” 

Charles nods. “And _you_ truly, honestly want our _James_ …and this all happened just because we sent him into a ballroom.” 

Virginia nods. “Yeah, this also happened because we sent Anthony into that ballroom, too.” 

“He needed to get the hell out of his office for longer than five minutes and…well, look at where we all are now”, Rumiko adds. 

Monica nods. “Yeah, see? And so we…kinda got used to this in theory, but now we’re here in your _mansion_ wit’ you and it’s just…can you give us some time to freak out here? Jus’ a little bit a’time?” 

“Oh, th-that’s what it is? Then, yeah! Sure! Of _course!_ ” Anthony nods fervently. “Please, take all the freaking out time you need and then some! And in the meantime, I-I’ll freak out that you three are all here, having dinner with me? And y-you’ll come over for dinner again in the near future?” 

“ _Very_ near future?” Rumiko helpfully supplies. 

“Hell, _immediate_ future?” Virginia adjusts. 

“Yes, the near or immediate future sounds great”, Monica agrees with a blinding smile. 

Charles grins. “The future at all sounds perfect.” 

James’ own face is just about to split in two. He looks over everyone. “See? Ain’ nothing wrong here! It’s all workin’ just fine an’ there’s no reason for any worrying at all!” 

Anthony nods, his face threatening to split much like James’ is. “Yep! That’s right!” 

Just then, James frowns as a thought occurs to him. He turns in his chair to better face Anthony. “Oh, yeah! Of all the things I forgot to tonight, I forgot to say hi to you, Tony. So hi!” He smiles big and wide and happy and waves at Anthony across the table. 

Anthony looks like he’ll shoot through the roof. He gleefully returns James’ smile and waves back with just as much enthusiasm. “Hi there, Rhodey!” 

That quiet falls over all of them again…that quiet where everyone knows and sees something except James and Anthony. No matter how much the two of them look between the other four people, they can’t tell anything, they can’t _see_ anything. 

“Well”, Rumiko softly pipes up. “Y’know what _I_ forgot tonight? I forgot to ask you, Anthony, why you’re sitting way over there and not sitting in my chair, right here beside James?” 

“Uh huh”, Virginia says slowly. She squints between the two men. “I thought there still wasn’t something _quite_ right at this table. Anthony what exactly are you doing?” 

“Yeah, ‘Tony’”, Monica agrees, her eyes glistening with mirth. “You can say ‘hi’ to ‘Rhodey’, so why can’t you sit by him?” 

James and Anthony freeze in their seats and look at each other for a long, long time. James eventually gives a tiny, helpless shrug and Anthony manages not to pout at him because _apparently_ it’s still his turn here. 

Anthony’s mouth opens and closes in a futile effort to form words. Even by the time he finally manages to form words, they’re barely coherent. “I-well, I…I thought-but it’s Monica’s night-”

Charles bursts into snickers, his eyebrows raising high over his glasses. “But Monica didn’t tell you where to sit; Monica didn’t tell you to do or not to do anything.” 

“That’s right. I ain’ said anything anymore than anyone else did, Anthony. My special night don’ mean you gotta spend it away from James”, Monica chortles. 

Rumiko stands up and comes around to Anthony’s seat. “ _So_ that means we should switch places, Anthony. ‘Sides, you’re lucky to have a frontal view of Monica and it’s making me jealous when you could just be taking James in instead.” 

She bumps his arm with her hip while he splutters. “Move your ass. You sit over there to get your up-close view of James and I’m sitting right here to get my view of Monica.” 

“Hurry up, Anthony”, Charles cautions. “That seat is getting colder and surely you don’t want James to be cold.”

“Yeah, there shouldn’t be any cold seats tonight”, Virginia says. 

“That would be the _opposite_ of what’s supposed to happen, y’know?” Monica adds. 

Anthony sighs as he slides into the chair right to James. 

James. 

James smiles and waves at him yet again and Anthony can see the goddamned lights reflecting in those diaspores that he can’t get enough of. 

“Hi, Tony.” 

He smiles and waves back. “Hi, Rhodey.” 

“See?” Virginia says. “Now you two can greet each other while you’re right next to each other! See how much easier that is?” 

“ _Much_ easier, I’d say”, Charles agrees with a wink. 

“Yeah, sure. A lot easier”, James confirms, his eyes not leaving Anthony. 

Anthony’s eyes, too, stay on James. “Uh huh. This feels easier already.” 

Rumiko settles in the seat right across from Monica and sighs. “ _Ahh_ , now _this_ is the view of the night. It totally is!” 

Monica giggles. “I was just gonna say the same thing to you!” 

Rumiko giggles right back. 

And then Jarvis is coming in from the kitchen, bearing a huge tray featuring their hors d'oeuvres, Canapés à l'Amiral, and thus begins Monica’s celebration dinner. The second course, the soup, is Avgolemono cooked to perfect thickness and smoothness. A bountiful Caesar salad with cool, crispy vegetables that crunch with every bite is the third course. Next, the fish course features splendid, steaming lobster thermidor garnished with fresh slices of lemon. Jarvis then has them clean their palettes with rosewater and mint sorbet as the fifth course. Their sixth course, the entrée, is beef wellington with crisp steamed carrots and château potatoes. 

A wonderfully blended strawberry sorbet is their seventh course and the first part of their dessert. Their eighth course features next part of their dessert, poached peaches with white wine, sugar, and cinnamon and cloves. Cheese and grapes is their ninth course. And the tenth and final course is coffee or tea and petit fours. 

The entirety of the dinner goes on with much talk, laughter, sharing, joking, and even more laughter. Not a single moment passes where someone is not cracking up at a funny account, regaling a story that makes someone more well-known to another, or teasing James and/or Anthony about that something that neither one of them can figure out. And when it falls quiet with just the clinking and tinkling of silverware moving against plates and glasses lifted to lips and brought back down to the table, the air of mirth and amiability is still very much there. 

Even when everyone sags in their chair, heavy and full by the last course, Jarvis comes back out with just one more surprise: a huge tray of soufflés in just about every kind of style and flavor. He sets the tray in the middle of the table and turns it so that the most decorated one (a double chocolate one with three elegant loops of half caramel, half vanilla frosting, plus sprinkles and extra chocolate chips atop it) is right within Monica’s reach. Monica’s eyes shine. 

Everyone is polishing off their soufflés when Jarvis suggests to Anthony that he give their guests a tour of the estate. All agree to this…for when they can next move. “When they can next move” turns out to take about ten minutes. But it’s no matter-if anything, there’s thrice as much conversation and laughter and amicability during the tour as there was during dinner. 

And it’s when they’re on the last part of the tour, in the gardens in the back of the mansion, that Anthony grabs James’ hand and quietly pulls him away from the rest of the group. They both bite their lip to stifle mischievous laughter as they sneak away. Anthony pulls them into the closest study and closes the door. 

James immediately falls into his arms and hugs him close. “Ahh…see, now, that wasn’ so hard, was it?” 

Anthony laughs and hugs him tight, tight, _tight_ around the waist. “Actually, Rhodey, that was really fucking hard. I was worried something might go wrong; maybe you all wouldn’t like the dinner or you all wouldn’t have wanted to come at all.” 

“But the complete opposite happened, yeah?” James squeezes him closer and snuggles his head against his. “We _did_ come and that I think I can say for myself as well as Moni and Charles that that was prolly one of the _best_ and biggest dinners we’ve had in our whole lives. It really was.” 

“I’m glad. So, so glad, Rhodey”, Anthony sighs. He buries his face in James’ neck, breathing in that Dapper Dan for the nth time that night, just as James has been breathing in his pine all night.

James smiles and indulges in stroking the fine, silky black hair at the nape of Anthony’s neck. He hadn’t thought about how much he appreciates having the flat cap out of the way so he can fully enjoy Anthony’s hair. And he enjoys it even more when he can feel Anthony melt at the touch. 

For a long, long while, it’s soft and calm and quiet between them. Easy and slow and content between them. 

“Oh, yeah, an’ I forgot to say: you’re wearing that pine again and it smells _so_ good”, James whispers. “Thanks.” 

“Of course, honey bear. You said it was your favorite and I told you I’d wear it more often for you. It’s not a problem, not a problem at all.” 

James smiles and then cautions, “…Anthony? If we keep standing right here like this, Imma fall asleep on you. I swear I am.” 

“Then just fall asleep on me”, Anthony laughs. “Believe it or not, ‘M a pretty steady mattress until we can plop together on the nearest bed.”

“Oh, I believe it and I’d love to fall asleep on you an’ keep sleeping on ‘til tomorrow. But I gotta go to work on Monday, Tones.” 

“Aw, okay. You’re right. And, hell, I even have a meeting late in the afternoon tomorrow.” He pulls slightly away from him. “But since this is the case, will you do something for me? It’s something that I probably can’t yet ask Monica and Charles for just yet, but surely I can ask you.” 

James pulls away, too. “Sure. What is it?” 

“W-would you come over any time you like? Any time at all?” Anthony asks. “Even if I’m at work at the time, will you just go ahead and call Jarvis to come and pick you up? And then you’ll stay as long as you like and as long as you can?”

James stares at him.

Anthony continues, “Okay, I know what you’re going to say. I _know_ -you don’t want to impose on us like that-”

“ _Was_ I going to say that? I dunno, _was_ I…?” 

“-but it’s not imposing in the least. It’s really, really _not_. Jarvis, Rumi, and V want you over here as much as possible. They adore you very much-”

“Anthony-”

“ _Please?_ ” 

James sighs, heavy and deep, and looks up at the ceiling. Anthony moves his hands to hold James and stays silent as he watches the war on his face play out. 

Eventually, James gives another heavy, deep sigh and looks back at the other man. There’s still hesitance and incredulity in his eyes. But at the same time, just the teeniest smile plays across his lips. He squeezes Anthony’s hands. “…You’re just tryna steal me away from Monica and Charles, ain’t you? That’s what this is.” 

Anthony’s face couldn’t be any brighter. “No, no, no, _no!_ I’d never try to ‘steal’ you away, Rhodey-just trying to whisk you away is all! Can’t I whisk you away every now and then? Pretty James, pretty please?”

James laughs just as hard at that as he did the first time Anthony used that…the first time they danced together at the brand new Hennessy Ballroom. 

“You are a _mess_ ”, James wheezes. “But…okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll…think about letting you whisk me away every now an’ then, a’ight?” 

“Alright!” 

Anthony smiles. 

James smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, now _that's_ a big, yummy dinner, huh? I had fun researching for it, too!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didja miss me?! I missed ya'll!! 
> 
> First things first, tho: I am so, so, so, so, _so_ sorry. **Deeply** sorry. School started, I was struggling with the pace/timing of what needed to happen in this story (and a few of my other ones, too), and distractions, distractions, distractions. 
> 
> So ya'll know my chapters here are usually 10K words. But since I made you wait for such a scandalously long time, I have broken my 10K limit and so this chapter right here is 16K. I'll _try_ to update again before the summer ends  & school begins. But if I can't, then I hope this chapter with all its fluffy-fluff holds you over! 
> 
> Thanks oh-so very much for sticking with me this long and now on with the chapter! :D

Mrs. Bambina “Bambi” Arbogast’s life is uniquely lucky. Very, very uniquely lucky. 

Just like nearly everyone else in America, she had a good, steady job well before 1929. She first found fast-paced, fulfilling work during the Great War as a clerk to a mobile army surgical hospital unit. And when the Great War ended, she easily found a job as a civilian clerk in a healthcare clinic in Secaucus, New Jersey and stayed on for little over a decade. 

But the Crash hit her and her family just as it hit everyone else and so Bambi found herself scrambling just to survive. She and her family fled to New York City in the hopes of fertile ground, but there was no fertile ground to be had-they still scrambled for mere survival. But one day, while she was deeply depressed and working her fingers to the bone as a scullery maid, she saw an ad in the paper. 

It was an ad for a position as executive assistant/office manager at Stark Industries. Bambi’s heart pounded something fierce as she read over and over through the position’s requirements and benefits. She felt like she was going out of her damn mind when she announced to her family that she was going to apply for it. But as always, they supported her and they were right there when she got the letter in the mail (they couldn’t afford a phone at the time) that she was selected to interview.

Bambi will never forget how her heart seemed to keep stopping in her chest the day of. She’ll never forget how small and insignificant she felt in her frayed-and-faded plain grey dress as she stood outside of the towering Stark building. She looked up, up, up at the building and felt impossibly smaller. And she’ll most certainly never forget what it was like to walk through the spacious first floor lobby, inform the thin-lipped receptionist of her purpose, and then take the elevator all the way up, up, up to the very top floors of the building. 

Upon reaching the top floor, she expected to find unyielding frigidity and harsh scrutiny. 

Instead, she found nothing of the sort. 

Her future coworkers and boss were frantically buzzing all around the multiple, interconnected offices. Bambi’s eyes couldn’t take in one employee absently stumbling around while studying a folder haphazardly stuffed with papers before she saw a stack of papers slowly, but surely toppling off a cluttered desk before she then saw a huge, sticky coffee stain on yet another desk. 

And in the midst of all that chaos were her future boss and two of her main future coworkers, Rumiko Fujikawa and Virginia Potts, struggling to conjure some kind of order out of everything when there just was none to be had. 

Bambi didn’t think, didn’t say anything. She simply placed her purse atop a chair, walked right up to her future boss, took the papers right out of his hands, and dove into work. Bambi worked like she was never out of a job in the first place. While her boss stood there damn near helpless and most-certainly speechless, Bambi whirled around the office taking charge in cleaning up and finding some sense of order in the mess. 

By the time she was done less than two hours later, she was closely, happily collaborating with Ms. Fujikawa and Ms. Potts and the multiple interconnected offices of the top floor looked to be somewhat like, well…an office again. And through it all, Bambi’s future boss mostly stood around with his mouth agape like a fish. 

His mouth was still very much like a fish’s when she finally got around to extending her hand to him and inquiring when he would be ready to interview her. It was at the sight of her extended hand that seemed to bring him back to his senses. But instead of the crisp, professional handshake Bambi expected, her boss clutched her hand in both of his and begged- _begged_ -her to start work as soon as possible. That made it Bambi’s turn to gape like a fish and, at that look, her boss rattled off the salary, benefits, hours, and the like to be had at Stark Industries and he insisted that this was the first time in a _long_ time that he’s seen the clean surface of a desk. 

Oh, and he would personally ensure that she had a nice, corner office with a huge, huge window and whatever other amenities she would want and/or need. 

To this day, Bambi’s fond memory of how her disbelieving chuckle bubbled out of her blots out all of the earlier, terrified memories of her impending interview at Stark Industries. 

And an entire year later and a half later, Bambi Arbogast can imagine working nowhere else. 

Every last one of her colleagues-particularly Ms. Potts, whom she collaborates with the most often-are true and golden. And her boss did indeed keep all of his promises and so her office is one of the best in the building. 

Speaking of her boss…

The boy is more than young enough to be her son. Though he’s the head of one of the largest and most successful American companies, his youth just won’t allow her to see him as little more than her surrogate child. The boy’s already been through hell and back when he shouldn’t have been and still he perseveres and does his best to do what’s right. It’s lucky that he’s crackling smart and wittingly innovative both in his inventions and in his family’s business. 

And it’s even luckier that he never forgets to remain empathetic, compassionate, generous, and kind. Even when he’s all but dead on his feet (and it’s those times when Bambi puts her foot down and calls for Jarvis to drive him home and drive him home _yesterday_ ), he’s never without a warm smile and a friendly greeting for another person. Hell, that doesn’t change even when there’s that hint of that grinding hollowness in his eyes. 

Bambi purses her lips as she organizes the folder in front of her before she starts on the next one. Less than a few weeks ago, that terrible grinding hollowness in his eyes was the worst it’s ever been since his last reminder of his parents’ deaths. From the looks on Ms. Fujikawa and Ms. Potts’ faces, they knew what caused it and they weren’t too keen on comforting him through it. And so that look in his eyes continued even when he smiled. 

Bambi only just managed not to act unprofessional by asking what in the world was going on. 

But now that look is gone. Completely, utterly gone. 

Now the boy has been his own ray of sunshine all morning long. From right outside her office door, she’s spotted him idly humming, sometimes even singing to himself as he sways to some kind of special, secret song in his head that no one knows but him. And the smile on his face…

That smile has a radiance to it-a _light_ to it-that Bambi’s not quite sure she’s ever seen before. It is a light that appears to radiate all throughout the massive, towering building, spreading to every single corner until the shadows seem to disappear; it is a light that appears to outshine the bright morning sun itself. 

And Bambi is still caught up in her thoughts when she’s leaving her office to hand her boss a memo from Ms. Potts when the boy in question bumps into her. 

He cuts himself off mid-hum and turns that blinding smile onto her. “O-oh! So sorry, Mrs. Arbogast! And good morning to you!” Still beaming, he leans down and plants a kiss on her cheek with a resounding _‘Smwah!’_

Bambi chuckles. “Mr. Stark! What was that for? And, though I’m far from complaining, what…what’s with all of this happy from you? I say you act like we just made another million in less than an hour’s time!”

“Huh? Oh no, it’s not that, Mrs. Arbogast!” He insists. “‘M just really, really happy this morning!” 

“Well, yes…I and everyone else can see that”, Bambi laughs. She adjusts her glasses and studies him with her head cocked to the side. “But there’s something else about this happiness. I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but there’s a…light about you. A new kind of light we haven’t seen before.”

The child in front of her chortles like the schoolboy he practically is. “Well, maybe it’s because I was able to get you these?” From seemingly out of nowhere, he proffers to her a beautiful blue vase full of her favorite purple tulips. 

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you shouldn’t have!” Bambi exclaims, grinning. She shifts the papers closer to her chest as she gingerly takes the vase of flowers with her free hand. “It’s lovely, it really is!” 

“Well, it’s only the best present for the best executive assistant! You always like these to liven up your office every now and then, so I thought now would be a great day for them!” He insists. 

Bambi can’t help but chuckle again. “And as always, I do deeply appreciate this, Mr. Stark. And in turn, I have for you something that’s not quite a present, but it is passed on from Ms. Potts.” 

He chivalrously takes the vase of flowers from her for a moment while she rifles through her papers. She soon pulls out the RSVP-confirmed invitation to Obadiah Stane’s gala next Saturday. And when she hands it to her boss, neither does the smile on his face falls one inch nor does the light in his eyes dim one bit. Not even an upcoming gala is enough to take away his joy. 

If anything, he cheerfully flips the invitation over to read the extra information and endorsements. “Oh, this! Yeah, both Rumi and V told me about this a few months ago.” He lifts his eyes to meet Bambi’s and there’s a crackling of mischievous mirth in those blues. “Guess I was so busy lately that it slipped my mind.” 

Something very, very special must be going on. Something very special indeed. 

“Yes”, Bambi laughing agrees. “It must’ve slipped your mind _spectacularly_ , Mr. Stark. But you’ll do well to not let it slip on that Saturday evening, understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am! Understood!” 

He hands her back her surprise vase of flowers and his smile only grows as she cradles it up against her chest, right next to her papers. 

Bambi’s own smile widens as she looks back up at him. “Are you sure…there’s nothing in particular making you this happy? Nothing that you want to share?” 

Those blue eyes shine. “Oh, it was just a _wonderful_ , special dinner I had last Saturday. That’s all, Mrs. Arbogast. Honest!” 

“And I suppose that something special happened at that dinner?” 

Those blue eyes somehow shine even more. “Something like that.” 

-

The week is busier than ever for Anthony, but not a single thing takes away the sheer happiness blooming in his heart. It helps that for just about every evening when he comes home, one of the first things he gets to do is get on the phone with James. 

James. 

Who’s back in his life. 

And is going to stay there. 

They can’t seem to make themselves keep their chats shorter than an hour or two. Hell, on Tuesday alone, they talked and talked until James balked that it was after midnight and it was time for them both to go to bed or else they’d both be dead on their feet the next morning. Anthony didn’t bother to admit that if he was the only one who had to go to work the next day and not James, he wouldn’t have given a damn. 

But there is one part of their nightly conversations that weighs on Anthony: James still won’t come over whenever he feels like it. Every single time Anthony extended his offer again, James hedged with ‘I’ll see’ and ‘Well, maybe another time’ and so, so many more empty platitudes that made Anthony deflate against the phone. They both know it’s because James still worries that he’ll impose and Anthony, for the life of him, can’t figure out a way to convince him that it’ll be the exact opposite. 

It’s after those unsuccessful conversations that one or both of them will uncomfortably change the subject. They’ll talk about their days, their friends, cars and airplanes, the weather…just about everything and anything until one or both of them glance at a clock and realize the late hour. Both men bid each other a warm, genuine goodnight and a promise to see each other again as soon as possible. 

Before Anthony knows it, Monday turns into Friday and it’s been yet another week in as many weeks that he has not seen James face-to-face. Anthony sighs quietly as he finishes cleaning up his desk for the night and gathers up his briefcase. Jarvis called just half an hour before to tell him that he had a few urgent, sudden errands to run and so he’d be a bit late picking him up. 

Anthony only half heard him-his mind was overflowing with inventions to patent, quarterly bottom lines to review, and about a dozen other of the usual things. Virginia, who’s been staying and having fun with Rumiko for the time being, was curiously able to schedule most of his work this week so that it could all be done much, much later. But Anthony’s always been so engrossed in his work to the point of becoming a martyr. Besides, the sooner he gets most of these things done, the fewer things will pile up in the near future. He usually hopes so anyway. 

The bright summer sun is halfway setting by the time Jarvis arrives to pick him up. Anthony gives him the brightest smile he can as he tiredly slips into the front passenger seat. 

“Evening, Jarv”, he greets around a yawn. 

“Good evening, Anthony”, Jarvis returns. He pulls out of the huge garage of Stark Industries and makes for home. “I trust that this was yet another long day for you?” 

“It was”, Anthony confirms. “But I still got a lot done and I’m sure I’ll get even more done at home.” 

“Of course. Although…perhaps you would find it prudent to take a short nap before your work tonight?” 

Anthony pauses mid-yawn and looks at his butler. It’s silent for a long, long time as they wind their way through Upper West Side traffic. It’s a while before Anthony can reply. 

“…A nap? Jarvis, you know I don’t know what a ‘nap’ is; I probably can’t even spell it.” 

“Oh, but perhaps you could learn to spell it tonight”, Jarvis insists as he turns onto the Stark Estate private drive. “You may find that it refreshes you greatly.” 

“Well…maybe.” 

“In any event, you’ll at least find a nice long, hot bath rejuvenating. Surely you’ve earned it.” 

Anthony nods slowly. “Yeah, sure. A nice long, hot bath. Be a nice change of pace, huh?” 

“A very nice change of pace indeed!” Jarvis happily agrees. 

Anthony only feels even more tired as they finally reach home. As they enter the mansion, he barely hears Jarvis say something about preparing dinner. Dragging his briefcase with him, he trudges up the stairs to get to his bedroom. A bath, Jarvis said… _a bath, a bath, a bath-_

He comes to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs. From out in the hallway, he can smell his bubble bath mingled with some of his bath oils. Jarvis never runs a bath for him when he’s not already home-the man, bless him, is particular about bathwater growing cold and tepid. Frowning in confusion, Anthony finishes walking the rest of the way to his bedroom. He throws open the door-

“Oh”, James says, turning around. He flashes the other man a warm, brilliant smile. “Hey there, Tones. Yeah, Jarv told me he was gonna go get you jus’ as soon as he dropped me off here. So…hi.” 

Anthony hardly even blinks, hardly even breathes. He says nothing. 

James’ eyes dart to the left a few times as the silence stretches on and on. Some part of Anthony’s numbed mind notices that James is wearing one of his thick, fluffy blue-and-white cotton robes with his initials, _A.E.S_ ,monogrammed on the decorative breast pocket. And James is the culprit for the scent of bubble bath mingled with bath oils. James clearly just got out of the bathtub; Anthony’s bathroom door is ajar and leftover, fragrant vapor wafts out and into the bedroom. 

James eyes dart anew down to the robe he’s wearing, and then back up to the open bathroom door. He gives the other man an apologetic grin. “Yeah, I…see, work got out early today, but it was still kinda intense. As soon as Jarvis picked me up, he insisted that I go ‘head an’ take a nice, hot bubble bath while he went to get you.” 

“Uhh…I hope you don’t mind me using your stuff. But if you do, s’okay!” James swears. “It was jus’ that Jarvis kept insisting that I use ‘em so I could relax better. Quicker. I got my own stuff, though-brought my own bags. Ain’t used up all your hot wa- _ahh!_ ” 

Anthony tackles James onto the bed, uncaring of his briefcase and his suit. He snuggles down atop of James’ body and hugs the living hell out of him. His face feels like it’s going to break apart from his smiling and his heart feels like it’s going to soar right out of his chest form its pounding. 

“You’re here”, he whispers hoarsely. He hugs James even closer. “The fuck are you worried about toiletries and hot water for? It’s been a whole week and- _god_ , I almost didn’t think you’d come. But you…” 

Anthony trails off and buries his face in James’ neck. James does indeed smell like Anthony’s usual bath paraphernalia. But emanating from his head is that beautiful, wonderful Dapper Dan and Anthony can’t do anything but tighten his grip around James and inhale the sorely-missed scent as deep into his lungs as possible. 

Soon the sound of James trying to say…something cuts through Anthony’s thoughts. He pulls his face out of James’ neck. “Yeah, Rhodey?” 

James squirms slightly under him and wheezes, “Ca’breathe- _squeezin’ me_ , Tones.” 

Anthony immediately relaxes his grip. “Oh! Sorry, cupcake! ‘M just so glad you’re here! Can you believe it?!” 

James wriggles until he’s in a slightly more comfortable position under Anthony’s body and laughs. He lifts a hand to smooth over the other man’s workday-ruffled hair. There’s that warmth. That patience.  
Laughing again, he says, “Oh, s’alright, Tony. And I’m happy to be here, too; ‘M happy to have surprised you!”

The novel feel of James’ hand in his hair makes Anthony all but melt right where he is. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it and he doesn’t want to anyway. “Yeah, you _did_ surprise me! What changed your mind?” 

James blinks and his brows furrow in confusion. “Huh? ‘What changed my mind’? What d’you mean? I was always gonna come over an’ go bailin’ with you sometime!”

“You were not!” Anthony scoffs. 

“I was, too!” 

“Were not!”

“Was too!” 

“Were not!” 

“A’ight, _fine_ ”, James concedes with a huff. “You win this time, Tony. Y’hear? Jus’ _this_ time.” 

Anthony giggles triumphantly and waits. 

James absentmindedly fingers the lapel of Anthony’s jacket. “Like I told you, work got out early an’ I guess I just…took that as a sign that I should stop tossing and turning worryin’ about coming over. We’ll have the whole weekend together this way and…shit, I missed you, too. Missed you a lot, Tones.” 

“Me too, bumblebee. Me, too”, Anthony returns. Unconsciously, he leans down until their noses nearly skim. “Did you tell Jarvis what you wanted for dinner?” 

Anthony’s heart damn near beats out of his chest as he watches James’ lashes flutter while he blinks. James’ long, long lashes are feathery and plentiful; they shade those bright diaspores that Anthony hasn’t seen in too long. Goddamn, if he could, he’d…

It’s James’ turn to giggle and the mirthful sound brings Anthony out of his thoughts. James warmly nuzzles his nose against Anthony’s and replies, “Yeah, Jarvis asked me an’ I told him I’d love it if he’d surprise me.” 

“Oh, Jarvis does _great_ surprises in the kitchen.” 

“He sure does-I’m glad to have learned that personally several times.” 

“Yeah. ‘M really excited that you’ll be able to enjoy it again with me, Rhodey. Really excited.” 

“Great.” 

“Yep.” 

By now they’re both so close that their breaths mingle hotly. James’ heart is nearly beating out of his chest right up against Anthony’s, right next to Anthony’s. And Anthony has shifted so that not all of his weight would rest atop him, though Anthony was still pressed flush against him; his arms are braced on either side of James’ head. 

Meanwhile, James feels all but incorporeal. His back is pressed into Anthony’s impossibly soft, airy bed and the fresh, clean scent of the downy linen is just a head turn away. With Anthony pressed atop him, he can more directly inhale that pine he loves so much. And James…James truly almost didn’t think he’d come back here; he didn’t think he’d ever find it in him to call a jubilant Jarvis on a whim, ask him to come pick him up, and then actually get in the car with him and drive all the way back over here to the Upper West Side. But he is here, right here in Anthony’s bedroom with Anthony. 

There’s no other place he’d rather be. 

Whereas Anthony’s hands are still on either side of James’ head, James’ hands roam. 

Chastely, gently they roam. 

One of his hands slips under Anthony’s suit jacket to feel the warmth of his skin through his dress shirt before sliding across his chest to teasingly tug at the knot of his tie around his neck. The other goes back to smoothing over and through the black, wavy mass of his hair. James lets the now-loosened knot of Anthony’s tie go to slide down and rest over his heart. He’s unsurprised to find it beating as hard and as fast as his. 

James’ eyes flutter again and then it’s glistening diaspore meeting melting steel blue. With not a word spoken between them, they’re both reminded of their first kiss. In front of James’ apartment at the end of their big, big date night. How soft it was. How slow it was. How sweet it was. 

How very long, long ago. 

Both of their eyes shutter as, in the next instance, their lips are brushing against each other’s. As they lightly brush without actually kissing, their lips feel the softest and smoothest they’ve ever been to each other. Their breaths mingle even hotter and where there was not yet one during their first kiss, a spark bursts between them. Between them, their hearts pound harder. Faster. 

Anthony’s eyes are the first to open. They search James’. In a voice so low that James wouldn’t be able to hear him if they weren’t so close, he asks, “…May I?” 

James runs his fingers through Anthony’s hair until his hand cascades down to warmly cup the nape of his neck. In just as low a voice, he says, “ _Please._ ” 

Not even an instant has passed when both of their eyes completely close and they meet each other halfway. Upon their lips properly connecting with each other, there’s a collective sigh that courses through them, a collective sigh full of longing and desire and _completion_. As their kiss deepens, Anthony unconsciously presses his weight more fully against James and, before he can think to correct it, James encouragingly pulls him even closer by the nape of his neck, while his other hand warmly curls around his bicep. At the same time, one of Anthony’s hands gently cups James’ jaw, his thumb stroking over the smooth, freshly-cleaned skin there. 

And when their kiss deepens yet again, Anthony presses even harder, even closer against James and a thrill goes through them both. 

It’s only the need for oxygen that has them reluctantly pulling away from each other. And even then, they don’t completely detach their lips-they lightly skim at the same time that they softly nuzzle their noses against each other. 

James’ brown eyes are hazy, shimmering stars that melt Anthony right where he is. 

James’ hand around Anthony’s neck slowly slides up to play in his hair again. “Hey, Tones…?” 

Anthony’s bones are butter. “Hmm?” 

“Y’know…y’know, you don’t gotta kiss me jus’ once.” All those stars in James’ brown eyes flare with want. “You know that, right?” 

“Oh, really?” Anthony is already leaning down again. Their noses skim. 

“Yeah, really.” James’ hand buries even deeper in Anthony’s hair. 

“…So I can kiss you a second time?” 

“And a third.” 

“A fourth?” 

“Even a sixth.” 

“A tenth?” 

James chuckles breathlessly and nuzzles his nose against Anthony’s in as many times. “Whatchu talking ‘bout ‘tenth’ for when you’re so busy talkin’ that you ain’t even got us to ‘second’, yet?” 

Anthony blinks and then returns James’ breathless chuckle. “…Y’know, you make a fine point there, James Rhodes…” 

Their lips meet a second time and the thrill that rushes through both of them sends their hearts hammering anew. Neither one of them can stop the moan that sounds collectively from them as their kiss deepens and it’s twice as good. Twice as perfect. 

They break away for the pesky requirement of air, and then they immediately dive into their third. Their fourth comes shortly after. 

And by the time James and Anthony break away from their fifth, they’re panting hard. Both of their faces are flushed and their eyes are bright. The friction from their chests heaving against each other only increases their want of each other-their want to be _close_ -and so their hearts slow down not one beat. Their eyes search each other’s faces and…neither one of them quite know what they’re looking for, but they somehow know that they find it because it’s always been there. 

Anthony skims his lips along James’ and a whole new thrill shoots through his body at their mingling breaths. “So…since this Friday was a sign? D’you think you could take off Monday, too? That way we can spend a whole four-day weekend together?” 

“…A’ight, I knew it”, James says quietly. “This ain’t about ‘whisking me away every now and then’-you really _are_ just tryna steal me away from Moni and Charles.” 

“No! _Never!_ ” Anthony counters. “I just wanna be with you as much as possible! I still only wanna whisk you away! Never actually steal you away!” 

“You are, too!” 

“Are not!” 

“Are too!” 

“Are not!” 

“Are too!” 

Anthony laughs hopelessly. “Oh, alright- _fine_. I am. You win yet again!” 

“Hah! See? I told you-I know your ass!” James exclaims. 

“But I’m only _trying_ to steal you away, James. ‘M not actually _succeeding_ …y’know?” 

James pretends to let his eyes drift up to the ceiling in thought. “Hmm…the phrase ‘same difference’ kinda comes to mind…?” 

“Well, okay. Same difference, then”, Anthony concedes with a chuckle that’s returned. “But…in the meantime, will you see about Monday? I really, really _do_ like you here, snickerdoodle.” 

James mutters to himself, all while knowing that Anthony can still hear him loud and clear. “…He done pulled out ‘snickerdoodle’ again. Lord, he’s cookin’ with gas.” 

In response, Anthony gives James a pout so exaggerated that it’s all James can do not to burst into laughter and give in. 

“A’ight, Anthony. Imma _see_ about calling in Monday for you, huh? _But_ ”, he continues when Anthony looks just about to shoot through the roof. “Y’know that Mondays are when the shop is busiest; people waited all weekend to bring their cars in and I don’ wanna leave my team hangin’ like that, you dig?” 

Anthony nods immediately and can’t help the brand new smile spreading across his face. “Yes, Rhodey. I understand. I know your ass too; I know you wouldn’t leave your team high and dry like that.” 

“And here’s another ‘but’ for you, Tones”, James replies with an answering smile. “If I can’t take off Monday, then you can count on me comin’ here to have a bailin’ time with you that following weekend. Promise.”

Anthony’s eyes light up. “You mean it?!” 

“Yep! Sure do!” 

“That makes me really happy, Rhodey-I mean _really_ happy.” 

“Me, too!” 

“Great!” 

“Yep!” 

Anthony’s eyes randomly dart to the side and back to the other man. He clears his throat and then asks, “So, uhh…out of the happiness that we’re both feeling, d’you mind if I-”

“Yes. Yes, you may. Again. Please”, James replies, a twinkle in his eye. 

Anthony needs no further words. He dives in again to capture James’ lips with his and-god _damn_ , it’s like they never stopped kissing at all. 

It’s yet again a good, long while before they finally break away. They breathe heavily, raggedly against each other, their chests once again brushing against the other man’s, their noses nuzzling, and their hands caressing. 

Anthony is the first to blink in confusion. “Hey, uhh…bumblebee?” 

“Yeah, Tony?” James gives him a warm, hazy smile. 

“What…” Anthony tilts his head. “What were we about to do again…?” 

It’s James’ turn to blink in confusion. “Uhh…kissin’ ‘till the sun rises?” 

“Yeah, but…before that.” 

“Umm…you were crushin’ me about half to death?” 

“Okay, that.” Anthony unconsciously tries to lift himself off of James, but James pulls him back down again. He relents with a smile. “But…I think it was something before or after me crushing you…” 

“Huh…” 

Both men start wracking their kiss-addled brains to figure out what-just _what_ -they were about to do before they-

Their stomachs choose that time to growl in unison. James and Anthony share a look and then look down in-between their bodies…and then back up again, where they smile stupidly at each other for the thousandth time in as many times. 

James’ grin lights up Anthony’s whole world “Hmm…y’think it got anything to do with dinner, Tones?” 

“Yeah! Dinner! And before dinner, uhh…” 

“Washing up? ‘Specially you?” James takes a moment to playfully frown at Anthony’s suit. “Well, really _only_ you?”

“Oh, shit, honey bear!” Anthony scrambles to get off the other man and James lets him go this time. “Here I am, coming from work and smelling like corporate and you’re already fresh and clean and-”

James pulls him down for another kiss. Just one quick, sweet peck of the lips before he releases him. “Hey, now. ‘S’okay. Really is. I missed huggin’ you and you hugging me somethin’ awful, Tony. So s’alright.” 

Anthony gives him a slow, slow smile. “I missed it too, Rhodey-I missed _you_.”

“Me too, Tones”, James returns as he slowly sits up. 

“So, umm…washing up. Shower. Then dinner. Right.”

“Right!” 

\- 

By the time both young men are ready to go down to dinner, James changed into a simple pair of pajama pants and a white shirt. Anthony wore much the same. 

Dinner is a simple, satisfying four course affair. Jarvis first serves them their appetizers of smoked salmon rillettes; crisp watercress salad with pecans, cucumber, and blue cheese that’s garnished with saffron vinaigrette is their second course; medium-rare filet mignon generously dressed in red wine is their third course and entree; and finally cups of hot coffee and a large dish of crème brûlée for dessert that James and Anthony gleefully share between themselves. 

And just as always, there’s much laughter, joy, and happiness the entire time. 

-

Anthony holds tight to James’ hand as he leads him down to his workshop. He can feel far, far more than he can hear James’ awed intake of breath as he ceremoniously pushes open the double doors. 

“Welcome to the home within the home, James”, Anthony welcomes. “Now it’s yours, too.” 

James’ bright, bright diaspores are wide with excitement and delight as they take in the whole room. He can’t stop the huge smile that’s all but splitting his face. Long, long before James ever met Anthony, he could only ever _dream_ of a place like this. James loved working at Henry’s shop, but it was only a place of work that he came to and left at designated times. To have such a place like this, right inside a home where he could access any time he wanted and access it with someone that he’s come to like and care for deeply… 

Oh, it’s truly only ever been a dream for James. A far-off dream, a deeply longed-for dream. 

“Tony”, he breathes. He squeezes Anthony’s hand and slowly shakes his head. “This is…this is all _amazing_. And you jus’ come on down here anytime you want and just tinker? To your heart’s content?” 

“Well, not necessarily to my ‘heart’s content’ because work sucks a hell of a lot outta me”, Anthony replies with a sheepish smile. “But ‘M lucky to get to come down here at all several times a week. I conceive and create things both for my company and for my own personal enjoyment.” 

He looks hopefully at James. “And now I’m hoping that, y’know, I could come down here even more frequently ‘cause I got a really, _really_ good friend and partner in tinkering adventures.” 

James’ eyes are brighter than all the lights in New York City. “I think you don’ gotta hope anymore, Tones-I think that’s already happening righ’ now.” 

“Great! So, uhh…how about a thorough tour? That way you see all of your new toys you can play with!” 

“I think that’s a great idea!” 

Anthony beams and does just that. As they stroll hand-in-hand around the large, cavernous room, Anthony explains that a good bit of the décor and unfinished projects are left over from when the workshop was his father’s. James excitedly and expertly names the make and model of every single one of the luxury cars Anthony introduces him to; Anthony just as excitedly tells him that they can go driving in as many of the cars-hell, _all_ of the cars-as he likes. 

It’s when Anthony is showing James his multiple worktables and their contents that he becomes bashful. And James turns those big, ever-perceptive diaspores and that warm, patient smile onto him. 

“What, Tones? You lookin’ that way ‘cause it’s kinda messy?” James asks with a tilt of his head. “Ain’t no reason to worry about that! I like it jus’ the way it is!” 

Anthony chews on his lip. His eyes dart from James to the worktables and back again. His eyes then land on his least-cluttered worktable, the one where he…

“It-it’s not that, honey bear. It’s, uhh…” 

James’ head tilts even more. “Hmm? It’s what? You can tell me anything-you know that now.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, I do know that!” Anthony assures him. He trails his eyes to his least-cluttered worktable and gestures to it with his free hand. “Um, you see that one table?” 

“Uh huh! Sure do!” James says, his eyes easily following where Anthony gestured. 

Anthony gulps. “Well, see…that’s where- you remember when we exchanged numbers right after we ate lunch at Sally Hagen’s diner?” 

“Yep!” 

“And we were p-pretty excited because we did that and it meant w-we were gonna see a movie together later?” 

“Uh huh…?” 

“Well, a few days later, that’s…” Anthony trails his eyes back to meet James’. “That’s the table where I kept the paper with your number on it all day while I tinkered down here just so I could look at it a-and remind myself that you really did want to see me again. I…yeah, I did that.” 

Those diaspores of James’ gleam brighter and happier than any chandelier. “Aww, _Tones_. You did that? Y’really, _really_ did that?” 

Anthony nods with a flush and a grin equally creeping up his face. 

James lets go of his hand only to clasp him in a close, tight hug. Anthony immediately wraps his arms around James in turn, bringing their bodies flush together. 

“You know, you ain’t gotta be self-conscious ‘bout that”, James says lowly. “Because ‘round that same time? I was keepin’ your number in my pocket all day and all night.” 

Anthony’s brand new smile damn near splits his face in two. He snuggles his head close against James’. “In your pocket ‘all day and night’, you say…?” 

“Uh huh”, James confirms. “I was even hummin’ a waltzing tune from when we were dancin’ at the Hennessy and all my coworkers caught on and teased me about it. So y’see? I keep you with me all the time, too. Ain’ nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“…Bumblebee?” 

“…I just overwhelmed you? Again?” 

“Yep.” 

“Gotta give you a minute? Give us both a minute?” 

“Yep.” 

“Will do, Tones. Will, do. Take your time.”

“Thanks, Rhodey.” 

“Anytime!” 

When Anthony is sure he won’t melt into a puddle of feelings upon looking James’ face, he finally lifts his head from James’ warm, Dapper-Dan-smelling shoulder. 

He still keeps his arms warm and snug around James’ waist as he asks, “So! What’s the first thing you wanna do, honey bear? Whatever you like!” 

James laughs helplessly as he looks all around the workshop. “Anthony, I don’ even know where to _start_. I mean this is all jus’…” 

“Oh, just start wherever you want, cupcake! I meant what I said: this is your home away from home, too.” 

James smiles big and wide at Anthony, and then squints all around at the workshop. “Hmm…how ‘bout…” 

His eyes land on one of the cluttered worktable and his interest is piqued. James nods his head in its direction and asks, “Hey…is that…is that an engine? It’s looks pretty damn unique. Does it go to a particular model of car?” 

Anthony turns his head to follow where James indicated. “Oh no, actually! That’s just an unfinished, modified engine that my dad was working on before he passed.” 

“I’ve been…trying to get somewhere with it-just trying to improve it or even just finish a design for it for _years_ ”, Anthony sheepishly confesses. “But I can’t fucking get it to work with me for anything.” 

“Huh…” James says. He catches Anthony’s eye. “D’you mind if I give it a try or two?” 

Anthony’s face brightens. “Oh, _would_ you?!”

“It’d be my pleasure! I don’ really get that many chances to play around with modified engines, let alone _unfinished_ modified engines! So this’ll be amazing, Tones! Thank you!” 

“No, no-thank _you_. I can’t wait to see what you come up with, Rhodey!” 

“Me either!” 

“And hey…when you’re done with it, d’you want to replace one of the cars’ engines with it?” 

James could start flying right then and there. “And then see how the car goes with it?” 

Anthony, too, could start flying right then and there. “And after that, test drive the car?” 

“Maybe even go drivin’ a little out of Manhattan!” 

“Just the two of us?!” 

“ _Just_ the two of us!” 

Anthony looks over all of the cars in the workshop. “So which one do you want to try, snickerdoodle?” 

“I think…” James casts a cursory glance over all of the cars. “I’d like to try out that nice, pretty Renault 6 CV NN. Y’know, that one with its top down. Bet she’d enjoy the attention. Whaddaya think, Anthony?” 

“Oh, I absolutely agree with you”, Anthony replies. “And don’t worry about the others getting jealous-their turns are coming up soon, huh?” 

“Definitely. That’s for sure”, James agrees. “So how ‘bout I’ll work on the engine and you work on…?” 

“Adding some pre-modifications to the Renault to maybe fit her new engine better?” Anthony supplies. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan!” 

They go about setting up a long workbench that’s halfway in front of the Renault, and halfway to the side of it. Right in front of the part of the workbench that’s to the side of the Renault, they place a more petite worktable for the engine James will work on. 

Anthony pops the Renault’s hood up, much to James’ curious delight. Next, he brings the unfinished, modified engine to James, along with a long, heavy toolbox. He then settles in next to James on the workbench, in front of the car. 

James grins as he goes about positioning the engine and toolbox where he wants in front of him. “Thanks, Anthony!”

“You’re welcome, honey!” Anthony returns.

For a few seconds, James initially assumed that Anthony called him one of his usual endearments, “honey bear”, but a few more seconds pass where he realizes that there was no “bear” to follow “honey”. James stops at the new endearment. 

James’ hands still on the engine and toolbox and he glances over and over again at Anthony for…some kind of clarification. Some kind of new teasing to come forth. Some kind of…anything to come after the “honey”. He glances even more at the other man, wondering if Anthony is just more tired than he thought after a long, long day or if he’s just so, so excited at James being here that he forgot the “bear”. 

But no matter how much James sneaks peeks at Anthony, he looks neither too tired or too excited (well, no more than usual) to realize his slip of tongue. Instead, Anthony only glances back at him once with a wide, none-the-wiser smile, and then goes right back to starting his work on the Renault. 

James can’t help a small, perplexed smile on his face and a quiet, subdued clearing of his throat. He follows Anthony’s lead and turns his attention back to the engine and toolbox. 

He lifts the toolbox’s lid up and gives a delighted, low whistle at what meets him. “ _Whew!_ Now _these_ are some toys to be proud of!” 

Anthony looks proudly into the toolbox along with James. “Isn’t it?! A lot of those tools were my dad’s, too-he kept them up and sometimes even modified and repaired them himself when they got bent out of shape. They’ve been through the wars and they’re just as sharp and fit as ever!” 

“Yeah, I see! They’re just what I need an’ then some”, James agrees. “I mean, it’s like I could find all a’this and more at the shop, but it’s…just right here. At your house.” 

“Convenient, huh?” 

“ _Very_ convenient. Thanks again, Tony!” 

“My pleasure, Rhodey!” 

They smile stupidly at each other for the thousandth time in as many times and then they’re happily tinkering side-by-side while chatting about this and that. 

They barely realize the passage of time, what with being so engrossed in each other and in their work. From the way Anthony yawns more and more and from the way James blinks haziness from his eyes more and more, they both guess that it’s far, far from their dinnertime and well into nighttime. 

It’s not until Jarvis, still upright and pristine in his uniform, comes down to _kindly_ remind them what time it is. He suggests that they would both do well to go to bed, as Anthony had a long, long day of work and James has had quite a shift in schedule. Oh, and they’d also do well to take another shower before lying down to sleep. 

Anthony pouts, but any forthcoming protests die in his throat when he sees James yawning twice in a row. He turns back to Jarvis and confesses, “Alright, Jarv. You got a point here. But at least it’s not late, late, _late_ at night, huh?” 

“No, it is not late, late, _late_ at night...for once”, Jarvis agrees with a twinkle in his eye. 

James has much the same twinkle in his eye as he glances between Jarvis and Anthony. “…He don’ usually go to bed when he’s ‘sposed to, does he? He’s prolly only going to bed righ’ now because of me, isn’t he?”

Anthony directs his pout onto James. “Excuse you, James Rhodes. I am all but religious in keeping a good bedtime if I do say so myself.” 

“He does not even know what a nap is, darling James”, Jarvis supplies, speaking right over Anthony. “In fact, it was only just earlier this evening on the way home that he confessed that he did not even know how to spell it.” 

“Hmm. Well, it is _is_ a three-letter word, Jarv”, James says while Anthony splutters indignantly. “Y’know that three-letter words can sound really, really long when you get to bein’ dead on your feet…”

“Indeed, dear James! Indeed!” Jarvis says. 

“Okay. Alright”, Anthony mutters. “Everybody always wins while _I’m_ the only one that loses all the damn time. Shoulda saw it coming…” 

Jarvis chuckles and turns to go with a formal parting wave. “Goodnight, young sirs! I shall see the both of you in the morning!” 

“Nighty night, Jarv!” Anthony returns. 

“Sleep well!” James adds. 

The kindly butler’s footsteps fade away and Anthony gives a huge, gaping yawn as he stands up. He puts the Renault’s hood back down. 

“C’mon, honey.” One hand rubs at his eyes while the other holds out for James’ hand. “Let’s go get ourselves a quick shower an’ some shut eye, hmm?” 

But when James neither takes his hand nor says anything, Anthony blinks his eyes open and looks back at him. James sits still, looking up at Anthony with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. 

A crease full of worry comes to Anthony’s forehead. He reluctantly lets his hand fall to his side. “Wha’s the matter, snickerdoodle?” 

James tilts his head and he frowns up at the other man as though seeing him for the first time. “…You did it. Again.” 

“Huh? Did what again?” 

“You called me…that. Again.” 

“What’s…‘that’?” 

James’ head tilts even more and his frown becomes even more pronounced.“Y’really ain’t noticed?” 

Anthony stares down at James, struggling to wrack his sleep-deprived brain for…what “that” is. When he comes up with still nothing, he quietly confesses, “…Rhodey. I don’t…I call you a _lot_ of things ‘cause I like you so much. I can’t keep up with all of them, so you gotta tell me what I said.” 

James’ voice is just as quiet. “‘Honey’, Tones. Twice you done called me ‘honey’.” 

Anthony blinks down uncomprehendingly at James and this time, he himself imagines that a “bear” comes after the “honey” to create his usual endearment of “honey bear”. But when no “bear” comes afterwards, memory penetrates through the sleepiness of his mind. This time, he blinks down in shock at James. 

“Oh. Oh right”, Anthony whispers. He lifts a hand to lightly trace his lips, as though feeling the lingering remains of the new word. “…I did do that; I did call you that, didn’ I?” 

James nods slowly and just as slow a smile comes to his own lips. “Yeah, Anthony. Yeah, you did. And ‘fore you even ask, I don’ mind at all. I actually like it…a lot.”

Anthony’s eyes light up the whole workshop at those words. His hand falls away from his lips as he smiles, big and wide, at James. “Well, yeah. You _are_ a honey anyway-you’re _my_ honey.” 

James’ eyes light up in turn. “Thanks, Tones. It’s mutual-totally mutual.” 

“No need for thanks-I’m just saying the truth. But ‘M glad it’s mutual!” 

“Great!” 

“Yep!” 

Anthony then helps James slide the engine safely to the very center of the worktable and put the tools he used back in the toolbox in a way that James will be able to easily grab them come morning. 

Anthony next proffers his hand to James once more and James takes it this time, letting Anthony pull him up from the workbench. They trudge hand-in-hand back up to Anthony’s bedroom. Anthony courteously tells James he should go on and take his shower first and James just as courteously thanks him. 

-

In the space of that night, “honey bear” becomes “honey”.

-

Back up in Anthony’s bedroom, James rummages through his overnight bags that he placed right next to Anthony’s vanity for a fresh pair of underwear and flannel pajamas. He’s just about to fish for his toiletries when Anthony calls to him from across the room. 

“Hey, Rhodey? Wait a minute…” 

“Hmm?” James straightens up and faces the other man curiously. Anthony is standing next to his closet and pulling out an article of clothing and James becomes even more curious. 

Anthony walks over to James with the new clothing carefully folded and bundled in his arms. He holds it out to James and James sees that…it’s…a set of creamy silk pajamas the color of champagne. They still have their tags. 

With a big, big smile, Anthony holds the pajamas out to James. “Here! Why don’t you wear these tonight instead? ‘M spoiled and I always find that sleeping in silk pajamas works wonders for finding sleep quicker! And now I want you to know how that feels too.” 

But James only clutches his flannel pajamas to his chest and smiles warily at the ones Anthony offers him. “Uhh…thanks, Anthony. Really-thanks. But I-I’m prolly gonna be jus’ fine sleeping in my usual stuff tonight…” 

Anthony’s shoulders slump and yet another pout comes to his face. But James is still looking at the silk pajamas like they’re going to jump out of Anthony’s arms and bite him at any time. Anthony looks down at the pajamas he’s holding, back up to James and back down again. He can only guess why James doesn’t want to wear them. 

“…They’re clean”, Anthony quietly assures him. “Very, _very_ clean. I-I mean, they’re brand new.” 

A quirky smile comes to James’ lips. “…Yeah. I had a feelin’ they were clean, Tones-I see the tags.” But James still doesn’t reach out to take them from Anthony; if anything, he takes a step back towards the bathroom door and away from Anthony. 

“So, then…why can’t you wear them?” 

“I just…can’t. Like I said, I got my own stuff, Tony.”

“Yeah, you do. But…I got something right here for you to wear, too.” 

“Thanks-really! But I still can’t.” 

They’re both tired and more than ready to hop into bed. But this new mystery between them revitalizes at least some parts of their minds. Anthony can’t understand why James won’t wear the pajamas and James can’t understand why Anthony seems to need him to say it out loud. 

Anthony tries again. “I can…I can take the tag off before you take your shower. I know you might be worried about the price and-”

James winces. Another step back. “No, the tag and the price are _kinda_ not it…” 

“Oh!” Anthony feels like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Is it the color, then? You don’ like it? You’re more than welcome to go through my closet and find other ones you might like!” 

“Tony, that’s-”

“I got mint ones, azure ones, violet ones, plain black ones, plain white ones-”

“Anthon-”

“A few silver ones, rose ones-”

“Tony, _please_ ”, James cuts in. “It ain’t the color-the color is real, real nice and ‘M sure all the other ones are real, real nice, too. Hell, I prolly haven’ ever seen such a gorgeous shade a’champagne before an-” 

Desperation bleeds into Anthony’s voice. “Well, d’you just want Jarvis to go out and buy you completely, totally brand new ones that’re all your own?!” 

James’ face goes deadpan and he just stares at Anthony. 

“You can look at me like that all you want! But you’re not leaving me a whole lot of clues here and so ‘M being serious, James Rhodes!” Anthony insists. 

James’ face stays deadpan as he keeps staring. 

Anthony lets out a frustrated sigh. “…Okay. Please. I’m just as tired and lost as you are right now. Just…tell me why? Pretty James, pretty please?” 

James’ deadpan face goes completely away at one of his familiar, beloved phrases from Anthony. He, too, lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, okay. This ain’t working…” 

“No, it’s not”, Anthony agrees. “And we both want it to work. So please…?” 

“A’ight, a’ight. But…you _really_ don’t know why?” 

“No”, Anthony says, immediately shaking his head. “No, I have no clue why, Rhodey.” 

James looks at the huge bed and Anthony follows his gaze. “…You probably sleep in…in silk sheets, donchu, Tony?” 

“Uh huh. I do…” 

James eyes trail back to the offered pajamas. “And now you want me to sleep in silk pajamas. You say that’s…really comfortable. Good for sleeping quickly.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“That’s…a lot of smoothness. Too smooth. So smooth that it’ll be...slippery. Really, really slippery.” 

Anthony searches James’ face curiously. “You think it’s gonna be ‘slippery’, so that means you think you’ll be uncomfortable?” 

James winces. “Well, I think it’d be even worse than jus’ uncomfortable. I think I’d outright slip right outta the bed. And I’ll fall and hit my head on the nightstand. Hurt myself pretty damn bad.” 

“So I can either sleep in silk sheets _or_ sleep in silk pajamas”, James explains. “But I can’t do both, so Imma stick with my flannel. But thanks anyway, Tones-I mean that.”

It’s Anthony’s turn for his face to go deadpan as he just stares at James. 

James continues, “See, you’re just used to collarin’ a nod sleeping in silk pajamas and in silk sheets. So you don’t slip out an’ hurt yourself at all. But I’m not used to that, so…yeah.” 

It really _is_ time for them to go to sleep but Anthony, god help him, just can’t stop staring at the other man. 

Please, god help him on this night. 

“Well, uhh…” James clears his throat and makes to go into the bathroom. “Imma get on with that shower, now. Brush my teeth-”

Anthony’s voice is flatter than the floor. “First of all. You thought I didn’t already know that you’re not used to silk pajamas? Let alone silk bedsheets?” 

James stills. “Well, I had a feelin’ that you always knew, but…I didn’t know if it actually crossed your mind just now.”

“It crossed my mind. Yes, you can believe me when I say that it crossed my mind”, Anthony intones. “That’s a huge part of the reason why I wanted you to wear these pajamas in the first place; you’re spending the weekend here, in this house, and so I want you to have and experience as many wonderful things as possible.” 

“Thanks, Tones-”

“And both silk sheets _and_ silk pajamas are included in the ‘wonderful’ category”, Anthony says. “I need you to believe in that as well.” 

James nods. “Yeah, Anthony. I hear you-”

“Second of all. You think you are going to outright slip and fall out of the bed, hit your head on the nightstand, and hurt yourself.” Anthony blinks slowly at James. “You think this.” 

James nods even slower. “Yes, yes I do think that’s gonna happen. There’s a pretty high chance of that.” 

Anthony’s voice is now thrice as flat as the floor. “Third of all. You think I’d let that happen to you. You think I would _let_ …that happen…to you.” 

“Tones, I ain’t mean-”

“You think I would _let_ something like that happen when you’re supposed to actually be warm and safe and bundled up and sleeping- _sleeping_ -with me and nowhere near the nightstand.”

“Well, see the nightstand ain’t that far from the bed!” James insists. “Hell, y’got two nightstands on either side!”

Anthony’s left eye twitches. “ _James!_ Seriously?! Out of the two of us, I’m the one that’s supposed to be the illogical worrier!” 

James rolls his eyes up to the ceiling helplessly. “Well, whatchu gonna do then to let me know that I ain’ gonna slip out and hurt my head? Hold me all night?!” 

“ _Yes!_ Exactly!” Anthony exclaims. “I am going to hold you all night so you’ll believe me when I say that you’re not in danger of slipping out and hurting yourself on the nightstand.” 

Quiet falls over them. James searches Anthony’s face for several moments; Anthony changes not one part of his expression. 

A slow, slow smile comes to James’ lips. He walks away from the bathroom door and sets his flannel pajamas neatly atop his overnight bags. Anthony stays stock still as James then walks around the bed to take the silk pajamas out of his hands. 

“Well”, James starts, that smile still on his face. “Guess I better hurry on up wit’ that shower so you can make me believe you won’t let me fall out, huh?” 

Anthony is sure that if his answering smile grew any bigger, his face would split. “Yeah, th-that sounds like a pretty good idea, Rhodey. And you’ll…remember that you’re more than welcome to use anything of mine, right?” 

“ _Yes_ , I know that too, Tones. Promise”, James assures him. “Well…off I go. With these pajamas.” 

“I’ll be right out here waiting for you!” 

“Great!” 

“Yep!” 

Time simultaneously speeds up and slows down as they take turns in the shower…and then climb into bed. 

Anthony tiredly, but happily climbs in first. He throws the covers wide open and pats the space right next to him. “C’mon, Rhodey! Non-slippery bed where bedtime means snuggle time is right here!” 

“Sure, Anthony. ‘M comin’…I’m comin…” James says. He slowly, carefully sits down on the mattress. He feels proud of himself that he doesn’t jump a mile high as the mattress dips down with his weight and he slips a little- _just_ a little. 

James slides all the way over the large expanse of the bed and Anthony reaches out a helping hand and pulls him the rest of the way in. An excited giggle escapes James as he’s pulled flush against the other man. Anthony leans slightly away to turn off the bedside lamp…and then they’re lying down, one arm draped around the other’s waist, and facing each other in the ensuing darkness. The only light left in the dark bedroom is the slivers of moonlight that peek through the heavy curtains. 

They lay down on the same pillow, their foreheads touching and their gleaming eyes gazing at each other. The scents of soap, Dapper Dan, and fresh, minty toothpaste mingle in-between them. 

“Well”, Anthony quietly starts. “I guess this is the part where we waste time by staying up late talking about everything an’ anything, huh?” 

“Yeah, this could be that part”, James agrees. He yawns. “Time will pass and we still ain’t gonna collar a nod. But neither one of us are gonna regret it in the mornin’.” 

“Nope! Not a single regret!” Anthony mirrors James’ yawn. “We can even talk all th’way through the sunrise if we can, Rhodey.” 

“Yeah, we could do that. But…” James yawns yet again. “Just in case we _are_ jus’ a little too tired to stay up and talk…I don’ think it’s gonna be too bad if we fall asleep.” 

Anthony gives no small pout and he knows James can see it. He hugs James even closer around the waist, the silk of their pajamas sliding smoothly, soundlessly against each other. “But I don’t _want_ to go t’sleep, yet.” 

“Why not? We already done hung out, ate dinner, hung out again in your workshop, hung out _again_ ’fore we took a shower an’ brushed our teeth.” 

“An’ now we’re layin’ in the bed together and we’re gon’ be right here, in the bed ‘till you go to work in the morning, Tones”, James continues. “What more d’you want?” 

Anthony’s pout doesn’t go away. “I just…I just wanna be here. With you. I wanna be here with you so I know you won’t go ‘way. Still can’t believe you agreed to come over…” 

James chuckles good-naturedly. “Had a feelin’ you were goin’ to say that. But we can and we should go t’sleep, Anthony. Gotta be good to ourselves; gotta take care of ourselves, y’know?” 

“I’ll still be here in the mornin’”, James reassures him. He squeezes him around the waist for emphasis. “Promise, Tones. Really.” 

“…Promise-promise?” 

“Promise-promise.” 

“‘Kay, then”, Anthony relents. His eyelids are truly becoming far, far too heavy for him to keep open. “We’ll sleep. An’ then, when I get home from work…we’ll…have more fun. Together…yeah…” 

James gives Anthony such a wide, blinding smile that Anthony is sure it outshines just about every other light to be had in the world. 

And then James is leaning even closer to plant a soft, sweet kiss that’s fuller than any kind of dreams one can find in sleep on Anthony’s lips. 

James pulls away with a smile and says, “G’night, Anthony.” 

In the next instance, James scoots down until his head is level with Anthony’s chest. Anthony instinctively rolls onto his back, thus allowing James to lay his head right over his heart. And James snuggles down over Anthony, draping one arm over atop his stomach while he tucks the other in the little space between their bodies. Anthony wraps his own arms around James, but otherwise stays absolutely still. 

“J-James? What’re you…what…?” 

He can feel James’ smile against his chest. 

“Y’said you were gonna hold me all night so I know I won’ slip out, fall, and hit my head on the nightstand, righ’?” 

“Uh huh…right…” 

“So this is that.” Another smile against his chest. “Now g’night, Tones-you got work in the morning.” 

And James effortlessly settles into a deep, deep sleep in minutes as though he’s already done this a million times. As though he’s always slept in the close, warm circle of Anthony’s arms. 

For several minutes, Anthony stays still and doesn’t let sleep claim him. His every feel, his every sense is acutely attuned onto the man in his arms. James’ warmth seeps into his body at the same time that his warmth seeps into James’ until the warmth is all-encompassing under the covers. He can feel James’ sure, steady, and strong heart beating right in sync with his; he can feel their in-sync breathing as their chests rise and fall at the same time. Their legs are entangled together. 

James’ arm over Anthony’s stomach is lax, but it makes Anthony feel as grounded and secure as anything. Anthony merely turns his head so he can bury his nose in the teeny, tight corkscrew curls of James’ hair and breathe-breathe _deeply_ -of Dapper Dan. His gaze roams over the serene picture of his sleep-relaxed face. The shafts of moonlight that peeks through the curtains splash onto James. They paint his normally robust chestnut skin in soothing shades of silver, midnight blue, and indigo. 

His arms tighten around James. 

_…James, do you have any idea? Any idea at all…?_

Anthony drops a soft, sweet kiss in hair that smells of Dapper Dan. “G’night, honey.” 

He, too, falls asleep. 

-

“Rhodey, honey…” 

“Hmrphrr…?” 

“Rhodey, honey, wake up…c’mon…” 

“Mmmmrrhphh…” 

“Please, snickerdoodle? I got a surprise for you. You’ll like it-I swear”, Anthony laughingly pleads. 

With great reluctance, James cracks his eyes open to peer up at Anthony, who’s already up, smiling, and dressed in one of his sharp, pressed suits sans tie. 

And carrying a large silver tray laden with even more silver that James can’t quite make out in his grogginess. But he can make out the scents of what must be…breakfast. That just may be coffee that he’s smelling. 

James blinks down at the silver tray, looks back up at Anthony, and then looks back down to the silver tray. Grainy sandpaper nearly obstructs his voice as he asks, “…Y’take your breakfast in y’r bathroom, Tones? Or in th’bedroom? You need me t’move…?” 

Anthony bursts into chuckles. He holds the tray up higher. “ _No_ , cupcake! This is _your_ breakfast! ‘M so sorry to wake you up early, but Jarvis and I wanted to serve you breakfast in bed, if that’s okay!” 

James lifts his head from the pillow and smiles sheepishly. “Aww, thank ya’ll so much. But you ain’t had to do that!” 

“Oh, don’t speak nonsense, Rhodey-we both wanted to!” Anthony insists. He carefully sets the tray down on the floor a ways from the bed. “Here, lemme help you sit up comfortably…” 

“Oh my _god_ , you’re feedin’ me breakfast in bed”, James says, even as he sits up and helps Anthony rearrange the pillows behind his back. “I can’t believe you…” 

Anthony scoffs. “Well, when you go back to sleep and dream on it for a while, you just might start to believe it. Deal?” 

“Deal!” James laughs. 

Anthony laughs with him and then they finish comfortably arranging the pillows behind James’ back. He all but thrums in place with excitement as he then bends down to pick up the large silver tray and places it over James’ lap. He can only grow even more excited when, without being told, James idly lays back with his hands folded in his lap and doesn’t try to help with the tray. 

“Okay!” Anthony ceremoniously places his hand on the handle of the largest silver cover. “Ready, Rhodey?” 

James nods. “Ready, Tony.” 

Anthony pulls the cover off with a flourish, revealing the dish. “ _Ta-da!_ ” 

“O-oh _m’god_ ”, James laughs after a brief, stunned silence. “Wow!” 

The wide plate holds four large, triangularly-cut pieces of waffle that are resting against each other and are lined up straight across the middle of the plate. All four pieces sport a perfectly rounded edge and are fluffy and light-brown. 

Delicately resting atop the waffle slices are three long, fried chicken tenders that are an even darker light-brown than the waffles and glisten in the soft bedroom light. Little sliced pieces of green onion lightly coat the chicken tenders. James can even see that there’s already melted butter seeping into the fluffy waffles. And encircling all around the chicken and waffles is a decorative zigzag pattern of syrup. 

“I-I kinda wanted us to serve you something that I know is one of your favorites, bumblebee”, Anthony sheepishly explains. “Can’t really, uhh…remember when I told Jarvis, b-but I wanted to surprise you with it. So… _ta-da!_ ” 

“I _love_ it Tones”, James insists with a huge, huge smile on his face. “I love it to death an’ I thank ya’ll so much. Can’t imagine a better way to wake up!” 

Anthony smiles at him so much that James almost worries he’s about to hurt himself. “Really?!” 

“Really!” 

As James wakes up more and more, he notices the three other, smaller covered dishes on the tray; two steaming tea kettles (he had a feeling he smelled coffee); and two china tea cups that are the only tableware not made of silver. There’s cutlery wrapped in cloth napkins and set atop even more cloth napkins. A mini silver pitcher of milk sits next to a little dish of sugar. And in the center of the tray, right in front of the chicken and waffles plate is a dainty blue vase filled with fresh sunflowers. 

With another flourish, Anthony reveals the three other, smaller covered dishes. The first dish consists of a saucer that supports a teeny, adorable bowl filled to the brim with cuts of raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, melon, and banana. The second dish is yet another bowl atop a saucer, but this time with a creamy white substance that Anthony explains is vanilla yogurt with peaches at the bottom. And the third dish is a ham-and-onion omelet that all but oozes cheese. 

Next, Anthony uncovers the two tea pot lids and James smells both coffee out of one _and_ lemon-spiced tea out of the other. 

Anthony sheepishly explains, “I know you like coffee in the mornings or whenever in the day like I do! But I also know that you like tea, so…I wanted you to have your options for either one.” 

James gently fingers the handle of one of the tea cups. “ _And_ you wanted me to have the option to have both, if I wanted, huh?” 

“Well, it was a thought…yeah”, Anthony confesses with no small smile. 

“Anthony, I swear…” James sighs. “At this rate you’re gon’ make me stay here an’ never go back home to Harlem. ‘M already used to how pretty Mrs. Hagen’s chicken-and-waffle plates are, so I’ve been able to eat them with a lotta practice.” 

He gestures to the large plate in front of him. “But this whitey version of it is a new kinda pretty and now I may not be able to eat it for a good long time.” 

Anthony grins. “Well, all the better for you to stay here longer so you have all the time in the world to get used to it so you can eat it, huh?” 

“…You still holdin’ out for me staying here on Monday, ain’tchu?” 

“You can’t blame me for trying, James…”

“No, I guess I can’t.” 

They share a laugh. 

“Okay!” Tony exclaims as he straightens up. “So that’s breakfast, but please _do not_ hesitate to ask Jarvis for seconds or thirds. Also, please _do not_ wash the dishes.” 

James’ brow furrows and he squirms uncomfortably. “Why not?” 

“‘Cause you’ll get in trouble with Jarvis-that’s why not. Just, y’know, set the tray at the bedside and Jarvis will come and get it later. Promise?” 

“…Okay. Promise.” 

Tony beams at him, and then walks over to his dresser to pick out a tie. “Awesome! So, I gotta go to work, but the _whole_ house is yours” He pauses in searching for a tie to make a grand sweeping gesture.  
“Uhh, don’t forget that if you wanna shower or bathe, I got a whole lotta bubble baths, oils and bath salts for you to use. Don’t forget to soak an’ relax a little. Promise that, too?”

James nods and finds himself trying to hide a smile at this point. He busies himself with pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. Though he usually just takes his coffee straight black with an ass load of sugar, this time he indulges himself in just a little bit of milk. 

Anthony continues and his voice just a little frantic. He’s still searching for a tie. “Feel free to take a nap, too. And if you don’t wanna sleep in my bed, there’s a daybed in just about every guest room. But be sure not to pick one that’s too close to the window-it’s still pretty hot outside-”

Anthony cuts himself off. He looks to the ceiling, thinking for a moment. Looking back down at James, he continues, “But…well, actually? I think if you really do want to nap next to a window, you should be alright if you just draw the curtains.” 

James nods again, putting on a face like he’s mentally jotting down notes. He stirs his coffee. “…Draw the curtains.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry at all about yanking too hard-either!” Anthony assures him. “They’re pretty heavy and durable. So just give a good yank, lie down, and have your nap for as long as you like!” 

“Will do!” 

Anthony finally chooses a tie. It’s a bright, regal blue-and-red garment and he holds it up for James’ inspection. James smiles and nods in approval. Anthony smiles back and then throws it around his neck and under his collar. He starts tying it. 

“Oh, yeah! And please, please, _please_ have all the fun you want in the workshop today, too! That engine is especially all yours!” Anthony insists. “But, wait…you remember how to turn the lights on in there, right?” 

James pretends to scrunch up his nose in deep thought. “Uhh…the switch to the left of the doors?” 

“Uh huh! Be sure to turn that on and the power will stay on no matter what you do down there”, he says as he continues tying his tie. “Umm…also, don’t stay down in the workshop too much-Jarvis will drag you out with soufflés if he feels like you’re being cooped up in there. Believe me-I know.” 

Anthony finally finishes with his tie. He flips his wrist over and pulls back his sleeve cuff to check his watch. “V gave me a short day today, so…I _may_ be able to come back home and have lunch with you around eleven, but if not, it’s _not_ you! It’s just that I got caught up at work!” 

James winces in sympathy. “And it’s most likely that you’re biting into a sandwich while you’re reading and signing a mountain of papers, huh?” 

“Yeah…but it’s worth it. It is”, Anthony sighs. He checks his watch again. “But I will _absolutely_ be home by 2 o’clock-2:45 at the latest. Promise you that. _Oh!_ And you know that V’s number is in the kitchen on the fridge in case you wanna call me at the office?” 

“Yep!” James confirms. “I noticed it over dinner last night.” 

“Great! I can’t always come to the phone, but V will let me know you called as soon as she can, and then we can chat!” 

“Sounds like a plan!” 

“Yeah, and…oh shit, d’you know where all of the phones are?” Anthony worries. He fidgets with his tie. “Or at least where most of them are? I mean, Jarvis knows, but it might be a problem...should I draw you a map of all the phones we have?” 

This time, James pretends to bite his lip in thought, lest his laughter bursts forth uncontrollably. He swirls his coffee around, pretending to give Anthony’s worry serious thought. “Hmm…I think that _could_ be a good idea, but you might wanna leave that to Jarvis or else y’might be late for work, Tones.” 

Anthony winces. “Aww, yeah. That’s true. Just don’t lemme forget to tell Jarvis to draw it for you before I leave, though!” 

“I won’t!” 

“Thanks!”

“Anytime!” 

Anthony now wracks his brain, struggling to remember anything else he might have forgotten. But the more he thinks, the more he imagines about eleven billion more things to tell James before he leaves for work. It’s all he can do to force himself to slowly back away from the bed. But still…

“Uhh…anything else _you_ wanna know, though? Did I leave anything out for you…?” 

Meanwhile, Anthony interprets this as James feeling shy and nervous to ask questions that he’s more than welcome to ask. Anthony gives him a soft, wide smile full of encouragement. 

When James finally does speak, his voice trembles just slightly with repressed mirth. “Yeah, Tony: how do the doorknobs work?” 

“Oh!” Anthony perks up and goes to the bedroom door to show him. “Just like this! You just get a good, firm grip around it. And then you twist an-”

Anthony stops. 

He turns slowly and just stares at the other man. He watches James look back at him with eyes and a smile that are both far too wide and far too innocent. Anthony’s hand slowly slips from the doorknob. 

“…Okay, Rhodey”, he says quietly. “Okay.” 

“ _What_?” James playfully pleads. “You ain’ covered how the doorknobs work! Don’ nobody always know how those work! Don’t you know that can be a real conundrum? I mean, what if I get my ass stuck in a room all day?” 

Anthony pouts. “…You know that you just started our ‘fucking with each other tally’ right now in the morning? And y’know that means that I’ll have the whole rest of the damn day to get you back, right? You know that, right?” 

James chuckles over a sip of coffee. When he next speaks, there’s just a bit less mirth in his voice. “Yeah, I know that. But…I dunno if _you_ know that I’m kinda…not dumb? At all? I know you get worried, but…” 

Anthony immediately becomes contrite and walks back to the bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed, right next to James’ legs and warmly puts an arm over James’ calves. 

“Aw, snickerdoodle”, he says softly. “I’m so sorry. Of _course_ I know you’re not dumb-far, far from it. Shit, you’re sure as hell smarter than I’ll ever be. You are and I know that. I do.” 

“It’s just I really can’t even _begin_ to tell you how good it feels to know that you’re here, in my house with me. And so from now on when I come home, I can sometimes look forward to coming home to you”, Anthony continues. “So I just…I just worry about you being as comfortable as possible. That’s all.” 

James puts his cup of coffee down and reaches forward to grasp Anthony’s free hand. His voice is just as soft. “And I _am_ comfortable here, Tones-I’m _more_ comfortable and appreciative of all of this than you know.”

“I know it’s hard for you, but y’don’t have to worry about it bein’ otherwise; I’ll be jus’ fine here in your house for the few hours that you’re away at work. I wouldn’ tell you a tale about that.”

Anthony smiles sheepishly. He brings James’ hand up to his lips to plant a kiss atop his knuckles. “Y’mean it…?” 

James nods. “Sure do! And when you come back home, Imma still be here and Imma be even better!” 

“Me, too!” Anthony beams, but then stops and thinks. “Well, then…I guess that means I better…hurry up an’ get going so that I can hurry up and get back as soon as possible, huh?” 

“Yeah, I guess so, Tones. Sounds like a plan”, James agrees. 

Anthony nods and stands up from the bed, though he keeps James’ hand in his. He leans in for a goodbye kiss and as soon as they catch each other’s lips the kiss only deepens and deepens. James tastes like fresh coffee and sweet sugar and frothy milk; his lips are warm and soft and supple first thing in the morning. 

Anthony has a feeling that it wouldn’t be that bad to be just a little late to work this morning. Just a little. 

James suddenly slips his hand out of Anthony’s and grips his tie. He tugs and, with a slight gasp, Anthony obligingly leans in closer. They laugh, low and throaty, into each other’s mouths and then the kiss is deepening even further. Anthony’s newly-freed hand gently cups and caresses James’ jaw. 

That meddling need for air approaches, and so they break away. They keep their lips apart only just enough to breathe. James still has his grip on Anthony’s tie; Anthony still cups James’ jaw in his hand. Their breaths mingle and their eyes gaze into each other’s and it’s just like last night again. 

They lean in at the same time for just one, last, final goodbye kiss. And when they once again break away some time later, they’re laughing against each other’s lips again. 

James gently twists Anthony’s tie around his fingers. A smile dances across his lips and mirth keeps dancing in his eyes. He whispers, “…Tony, go to work.” 

Anthony grins and moves not an inch. “…Let go of my tie and I’ll go to work.” 

James grins right back. He twirls the tie around his fingers again. “Why?” 

“‘Cause I have to wear it so I can go to work.” 

“But it’s _your_ building; ain’t nobody really gonna say anything, are they?” 

“Well firstly, there’s more than enough people that think the building is still my dad’s and I’m just ‘renting’ it indefinitely”, Anthony laments, though he’s still grinning. “And secondly, they may not say anything verbally, but they sure as hell will say something with their faces.” 

“Hmm…” James’ grin slowly morphs into a playful pout. “Yeah, _that_ and you also wanna set a good example for ev’rybody else there, huh? 

Anthony mirrors the other man’s playful pout and nods slowly. “Yep. I have to anyway.” 

James pretends to give a long-suffering sigh. “You _have_ to?” 

“I have to.” 

James pecks Anthony, quick and sweet, on the lips. “Okay, promise you’ll have a good day for me? Even if it’s a short day?” 

Anthony gives an answering peck that’s just as quick and sweet. “I promise. And don’t forget not to wash the dishes, okay?” 

Another peck. “And you don’ forget to eat lunch. A good, hearty wholesome lunch, you hear me?” 

Peck. “Be sure to go back down to the workshop and have fun. Don’t forget that that engine is all yours. And call me whenever you feel like it. If I can’t answer, I’ll get back to the phone as soon as I can.”

Peck. “Make sure you take a few breathers, too. Jus’…put the pen down, put the paper down, and go for a walk, however. Be sure to breathe a lil; that work ain’t going anywhere any more than you are.” 

Peck. “Please feel free to go right back to sleep after breakfast ‘cause I know I woke you up kinda early. And you don’t have to wake up when I come home; sleep for as long as you want.” 

Peck. “Say ‘hi’ to Rumiko and Virginia for me.” 

Peck. “Don’t ask Jarvis if you can help with anything ‘round the house-that’ll really get you in trouble.” 

Their quick and sweet pecks blend into yet another long, lingering kiss that somehow lasts forever at the same time that it’s not nearly long enough. When they pull away, James finally releases Anthony’s tie and leans back against the pillows. 

“A’ight, Anthony. You g’on and have a good day at work.” He brushes a hand over Anthony’s slicked-back hair. 

Anthony’s heart jumps in pleasure at James’ caress. “Thanks, honey. I will and I’ll see you later on this afternoon.” He reluctantly straightens up and heads for the bedroom’s door. 

James beams and picks up his cup of coffee again. 

But at the door, Anthony turns back to James once again with a huge, huge smile on his face. “And one more thing: I’m still getting you back by tonight. I mean it.” 

James winks over his cup. “I await you.” 

They smile at each other once more and then Anthony is off to work and James is enjoying his breakfast. 

-

It turns out that Jarvis’ fried chicken is just _slightly_ less succulent than Mrs. Hagen’s or, really, anyone else’s in Harlem that James has ever had. But it’s no matter and James has neither intent nor desire to tell Jarvis-the kindly butler’s breakfast is otherwise every bit as wholesome and delicious as James knew it’d be. He polishes off the whole of the tray’s food and drinks more than half of both the coffee and the tea.  
He haphazardly holds up the tray and slides out of bed ( _without_ slipping and hitting his head on the nightstand…he really has to tell Anthony about that), and then carefully sets the tray on the floor so he can pull on Anthony’s monogrammed robe. The fluffy garment is as close to an embrace from Anthony as he’ll get. He then carries the tray all the way to the kitchen. There, in the sink, James sees other dishes that must’ve come from both Jarvis’ and Anthony’s breakfasts. 

Jarvis still hasn’t returned from dropping Anthony off at work (and who knows what other errands he’s running in the meantime). So James casually washes all of the dirty dishes and then wipes the kitchen down, humming to himself all the while. 

James then runs back up to the bedroom to change into his day clothes. He doesn’t really want to go back to sleep. He thought…he thought he’d want to head right down to the workshop to keep working on the engine. But instead James finds himself…just quietly, serenely wanting to explore the Stark Estate all over again. The continued sheer wonder of being in such a huge, luxurious place all alone propels James’ legs to roam the estate. 

He first finds himself just walking up and down, up and down the hallways. Getting lost is not an issue-this is his third time here and, though he doesn’t yet know everything like the back of his hand, his good sense of direction easily kicks in. James admires this painting, runs his fingers over that statue, and wriggles his toes into the carpet. 

Hell, he even slips his shoes on to take a long stroll through the gardens before the sun rises too high in the sky. A soft, serene smile comes to his face as he remembers Anthony grabbing his hand in these very gardens and sneaking them away from the others and to the closest study. That smile only grows as he thinks about how Anthony will come home early today. 

James soon makes his way back into the house and down to the workshop, where he works diligently on the engine. His mind goes into a fast-running queue as he thinks about this tool that he can use, that upgrade that he can install, how this could make for a better fit in the Renault, and so, so many other things. He pauses only to use the bathroom and get a nice, cool glass of water. A brand new smile comes to his face at the idea of fitting the newly-upgraded engine into the Renault with Anthony.

James now works hard on the engine with a wrench by the early afternoon. He’s halfway through with all of the engines upgrades he wanted to do and he’ll surely be done or close to it by Sunday night-

“ _James!_ ” Jarvis indignant voice all but rings throughout the mansion. 

James winces, but doesn’t lose his composure over his work. He briefly looks up and calls out to the door, “Welcome back, Jarv! ‘M in the workshop!” 

Though Jarvis doesn’t stomp (and he may in fact even be incapable of such a motion), James can still feel his approach like a roll of icy cold thunder. The workshop’s double doors swing open and Jarvis stands there looking at him with tight shoulders and a pinched mouth. 

“James, dear”, he starts. “Pray tell how the kitchen, including _all_ of the dishes, were cleaned upon my return home?” 

James puts the engine down on the worktable and lets his eyes go big and round. He puts on a show of glancing uncertainly around the workshop as though the answer will be there. “Uhh…well, maybe you just cleaned all of it up yourself ‘fore you left? An’ you always work so hard and so much that you forgot you did that? You do know that can happen, Jarvis. It happens a whole lot more often than most people think.” 

Jarvis’ mouth becomes even more pinched. “James, darling. While that may be possible, I do find that difficult to believe due to the fact that you were still eating your breakfast in bed upstairs. This occurred while I was gone driving Anthony to work and running other errands.” 

“Hmm…” James purses his lips and looks up at the ceiling. “Then maybe…Rumi and/or V snuck in and did them? If not, then I don’t got nothin’ else. I swear-I ain’t beatin’ up my gums here!” 

“That too is a possibility, save for the fact that both Rumiko and Virginia were already in the Stark building by the time Anthony and I arrived.” 

“So then…” James pretends to think. “That must mean that you already done did the dishes before you left an’ you just forgot about it. That happens even to the best of us, Jarv!” 

Jarvis sighs, long and low. “James, darling…” 

James pouts, giving up the act. “Jarv, I ain’t mean to overstep, it’s just-”

“You did _not_ overstep, James. Not at all”, Jarvis reassures him. “It’s just that I and Anthony only wish for you to be relaxed and comfortable here and washing dishes is _not_ a part of that.” 

James’ pout deepens. “I know that, but I just…back where I’m from, in East Harlem, we all be washin’ our dishes all the time. ‘M not…really use to things otherwise. I jus’ wanted to help out.” 

Jarvis walks over to James and places a warm hand on his shoulder. “And I understand that, darling. I truly do. But over here, in the Upper West Side, most of us do no such thing.” 

“It’s called ‘laziness and entitlement’”, Jarvis explains. “And you’d do well to indulge yourself in it every now and then.” 

James giggles. “A’ight, Jarvis. I’ll try my best. Promise.” 

“Thank you, James, dear!” Jarvis gives his shoulder a brief, warm rub before releasing him. 

But James’ pout returns anew to his face. “But…does this mean that you’re mad at me?” 

Jarvis’ mouth drops open in an “o”. “W-oh, James…no. No, dear. You’re far too sweet and kind and wonderful that I’m quite sure I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried.” 

James beams. “So this means you forgive me, Jarv?” 

“Yes indeed, James”, Jarvis confirms with an answering beam. “Now, then! I stopped at the market for fresh ingredients for lunchtime! And we can have soufflés for dessert…under one condition.” 

James winks. “I gotcha, Jarvis. I gotcha!” 

Jarvis winks back at him. 

-

“James, I’m back home!” Anthony calls out. “James? Y’around?”

James calls back from the workshop, “Naw, ‘M not here, Tones.” 

“Oh, you’re not?” James can hear the wide, wide smile in Anthony’s voice. 

“Nope! I done went back home to Harlem. So I dunno who you’re talkin’ to”, James replies with no small smile of his own. 

“Well, just in case you _are_ still here…” Anthony finally appears in the workshop’s double doors, sans suit jacket, tie, and shoes. “Whaddaya say I come in here and cash in on a big, big hug, hmm?” 

James’ diaspores shine at Anthony. And Anthony is thankful all over again for his shortened workday if it meant that he could come home to be able to see those diaspores even sooner. 

And then James is jumping up from his seat on the workbench to give him a tight, tight embrace hello and the day feels even better. Anthony happily returns the other man’s embrace and snuggles his head against his. 

James warmly rubs his back. “How was your day, though?” 

“Pretty good, since I got to come home early to you.” Anthony melts into and returns the caress. “Otherwise, there wasn’t a whole load of work to get through and we managed to tackle it all.” 

“Also”, Anthony continues. “Rumi and V say ‘hi’ right back!” 

James grins. “And didja eat lunch?” 

“I did, snickerdoodle! A big ol’ pizza and calzone with coke. ‘S practically a staple while I’m working.” 

“Oh, I like!” James squeezes him for emphasis. “Jarvis made me a nice, big meaty sandwich and some garlic-dusted vegetables. I even got soufflé for dessert, too.” 

“Now _that’s_ something to like!” Anthony says. 

“Yep!” 

Anthony looks over James’ shoulder. His face brightens even more. “And I see that you’ve really tucked into the engine, huh? I can tell it looks amazing already!” 

James gently disengages from his arms and turns to also look at his work. “Yeah, she and I have had some really fun times together! I should be all done in less than a day or two.” 

He turns back to Anthony. “So since you got all of your work done, you wanna sit with me an’ work on the Renault ‘till dinnertime?” 

Anthony’s eyes shine. “I’d love to, Rhodey!” 

James’ eyes shine right back. He almost grabs Anthony’s hand to lead him deeper into the workshop when he stops. 

“Oh, wait…” He says as he gives a cursory look over Anthony’s clothes. “Donchu wanna change outta your work clothes and into something more comf-”

“No, ‘M back home with you-I’m already perfectly comfortable”, Anthony insists. “Besides, I’m too impatient to change into clothes real quick-I wanna be with you right now.” 

At that, James slowly opens and closes his mouth, but finds that nothing coherent will come out. He settles on such a slow, shy smile that Anthony can’t help but lean forward to capture those soft, soft lips in his. James returns the kiss eagerly. 

And then they’re back to having fun by working as hard as ever, side-by-side, on the Renault and the engine. Even with as hard as they work, the cavernous room is still filled with the sounds of their laughter, conversation, and more laughter. The sounds of their voices are only interspersed with the occasional quiet punctuated by the _c-clink-t-tink-tink_ of their tinkering. 

“Oh, by the way!” Anthony’s eyes slide from a few wires and over to James, mischief brimming their depths. “Jarvis told me that you went ahead and washed all the dishes. Shit, you even went an’ wiped down the whole kitchen.” 

James snorts. “Oh, he told you that, huh?” 

“Yep. He sure did.” 

“Well, I _did_ get in trouble for it, like you said. But we talked it out”, James hedges. He puts down a wrench to grab a screwdriver. “And he basically forgave me so long as I don’ do it again.” 

Anthony makes a gamble on a guess. He looks sideways at James again. “Oh, yeah? And he didn’t take dessert away? It was your favorite of his-a soufflé, right?” 

James’ smile lights up the entire workshop. “Yeah, he did make me a soufflé for dessert!” 

Anthony pretends to bite his lip in trepidation and glance all around the room as though Jarvis will pop in on them at any time. James catches the look with no small amount of alarm. Anthony finally looks back at James and plasters his face with apologetics. He leans in close to James as though about to reveal a terrible, terrible secret. James leans in, too. 

“Rhodey, y’know…” Anthony pretends to nervously clear his throat. “You know that…that was your last soufflé from Jarv, right? I mean your _very last_ soufflé. Ever.” 

James blinks uncomprehendingly. “W-what? Naw, it wasn’t, Tony!” 

“Oh, yes, it was.” Anthony now pretends to nod sadly, forlornly. “It really was, Rhodey.” 

“But...but Jarvis said he forgave me. He even said he can’t even be mad at me for too long.” 

“That’s only ‘cause Jarvis is _British_ , James. And unfortunately, British people tend to put a bit more stock in being superficially polite more than they do just being honest. So don’t take it personally, but…that really was-”

James’ face is nearly ashen. “Tony. I cannot _believe_ such bullshit-”

“I know this is hard for you to accept. And shit, I’d tell you to ask Jarvis if you don’t believe me”, Anthony sighs. “But it’d still be just like I said: he’s more concerned with being polite than he is with-”

James all but looks murderous at this point. “Well, Tones. If that’s the case, then I think I got an easy fucking solution. Y’wanna hear it?” 

Anthony pretends to raise his eyebrows in sympathy. “I…dunno if whatever you have planned would work, Rhodey. But sure-let’s hear it!” 

“So, Jarvis cares more about politeness than he does ‘bout honesty”, James starts. “Is that right?”

“Mmhmm. That’s right”, Anthony confirms. 

A terrible, cruel smile comes to James’ face. “…Then I’ll just tell ‘im that _you_ told me to wash the dishes _and_ wipe down the kitchen in the first place.” 

“In fact”, James continues. “I’ll even tell him that you told me to do those things ‘fore I even got to tuck into my breakfast.” 

The blood drains from Anthony’s face and he goes whiter than a sheet. All pretense of fucking with James goes out the window as he searches the other man’s face for some sign- _any_ sign-that James is teasing him. 

When James’ face yields nothing but absolute seriousness and cruelty, Anthony scrambles to say something to call him off such an unspeakable atrocity. 

“…James R. Rhodes”, Anthony croaks. “Y-you wouldn’t. You can’t. C’mon now, I-”

“If I can’t have my soufflé in this house, then ain’t _nobody_ gonna have their soufflé in this house”, James asserts, low and decisive. “We’re both just gon’ have to be miserable together, Tones. Only way shit’s gonna work out.” 

Anthony stutters. “B-but I…I-I didn’t even…I didn’t even _tell_ you t-to-”

“And so?” James raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Thought you said Jarv’s priority is more aligned with politeness than with truth. What’s it matter if you truly told me or not?” 

“But I _didn’t_! How could you-”

“Same exact way that you couldn’t be bothered to protect me from a soufflé-deprived life. Same. Exact. Way.” 

“Y-you don’ understand, Rhodey!” Anthony pleads. “He’ll believe you and then we both know that he’ll punish me even worse!” 

James leans back and raises his eyebrows even higher. “Oh, yeah?!” 

“Yeah!” Anthony’s eyes imploring the other man to understand. “Jarvis won’t just take away my soufflés! He’ll take away the sugar dish with my tea, so I’ll always either have to make my own tea-which I do _not_ know how to do-or I’ll just be stuck with sugar-less tea! He’ll hide my favorite ice cream! There’ll be less pizza and calzone!”

He leans even closer to James, eyes outright begging now. “You will destroy my enjoyment in mealtimes-”

“You already destroyed my enjoyment in _life_ , Anthony Stark”, James counters. 

“Rhodey.” 

“Yeah, Tony?” 

“I-I…” Anthony takes a deep, deep breath. “Y’know what? I think I’ll just…quietly go in and try to change Jarvis’ mind. I-I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll try…” 

James nods once and then goes back to his work. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.” 

Anthony takes yet another deep, deep breath and also turns back to his work. 

From then on, it’s silent in the workshop. So very, very silent. The air around the two men feels deadened even at the same time that it feels like it could be cut with a knife. Even the sound of their tinkering does little to alleviate the silence. 

When James finally speaks again, his voice sounds as though it resounds all throughout the room, though he all but whispers. 

“Hey, Tony?” He doesn’t look up from the engine. 

“Yeah, Rhodey?” Anthony, too, doesn’t look up. 

“You were right.” 

“Right about what?” 

“That you were gonna get me back by tonight.” James finally looks up from the engine and gives Anthony a smile full of would-be sweetness. “You were pretty quick-quicker than I thought.” 

Anthony repeatedly glances between the inside of the Renault’s hood and James…back and forth, back and forth. His voice flat, he asks, “…I was quick, you say…?” 

“Yep! You sure were!” James smiles even wider. “You ain’t even made me wait ‘till dinnertime. So, yeah: you were right and that was quick.” 

Anthony’s hands completely still on a couple of wires and the rest of his body follows barely seconds later. His eyes bore a hole or two or thirty into James’ head. James only gives him yet another wink and a quick peck on the lips. Anthony stays still. 

“But”, James continues. “It ain’t nice to be tellin’ tales-no matter how hilarious they may be-on Jarvis like that, y’know?” 

-

The rest of that Saturday evening and night passes not unlike the Friday before it. Anthony finally unfreezes long enough to hurl a couch’s pillow at James’ head and then ensure him that now he’ll have to get back at him _twice_ as hard to even their fucking with each other tally. James only winks at him again and tells him he awaits him once more. 

When they fall into bed to sleep that night, they jokingly remark on how James didn’t fall out of the bed at all: 

“Hey, I still didn’ slip outta the bed, fall and hit my head on the nightstand!” 

“See? I toldja!” 

But James still sleeps in the close, warm circle of Anthony’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](http://flange5.tumblr.com/post/145490968311/the-return-of-the-most-important-woman-in-tonys) Tony in the comics hugging the one and only Mrs. Arbogast!!!
> 
> [Here's](http://iwilltravelblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Chicken-and-Waffles.jpg) the reference picture I used for Jarvis' version of a chicken and waffle plate, teehee!
> 
> Happy summer to you all and, as usual, let me know what think! -blows a kiss-


End file.
